by Pete Johnson
I very patiently explained to her that TV gave me ideas for my work and that anyway, I needed to watch all the comedy on it to help my career as a comedian (for which I’ve now collected sixty-five jokes). But Mum just shook her head as if what I said was of no significance.
Still, I had one trump card left: Dad. Now he just loves the telly. And whenever Mum’s out he lets us have the telly on all the time. We can even watch the cartoons when Dad’s in charge.
So after tea I settled beside him and said, ‘Guess what, Dad. Mum’s kidnapped my telly and she won’t even send me a photo so that I know it’s all right and not chained to a radiator somewhere.’ Dad chuckled before releasing his bombshell: he was in total agreement with Mum on this matter.
So now, every time I want to see anything on telly I’ve got to make the big old journey downstairs. I can never experience again the joy of watching a TV programme in the comfort and privacy of my own bedroom. It’s just not right, is it?
How dare Mum and Dad sneak into my bedroom and get rid of my telly without even consulting me? Surely parents aren’t allowed to do that. For a start, it’s a total violation of my human rights.
I tell you, I very nearly called ChildLine. I still might.
TUESDAY FEBRUARY 12TH
Rescue mission commenced at 4.05 p.m.
Mum was round at Prue’s with Elliot, so I climbed up into the loft, where I guessed (correctly) Mum had hidden my telly. It was stuck in the back, all by itself, looking dead lonely. I carried it down and back to where it belonged.
Mum did a double-take when she spotted it in my bedroom later that evening. ‘How . . .?’ she spluttered, and pointed.
‘It escaped,’ I said. ‘It didn’t like being kidnapped. It’s got very sensitive sockets, you know.’
Mum let out this deep sigh and sat down on my bed. ‘We’re doing this to help you, love,’ she said. ‘We just want you to reach your full potential, that’s all.’
‘But what’s my telly got to do with anything?’
Mum couldn’t really answer me, so she just pretended to be concentrating on taking my TV out. But I know why. She and Dad think if they just get rid of my TV I’ll suddenly be good at school. Have you ever heard anything so daft?
WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 13TH
Mum is still nosing in my bag. In fact, I’d say she’s becoming a bit of an addict. I’m hardly through the door before she’s poring over my exercise books. And then she’ll mutter piteously, ‘Oh, you’ve got another C.’
‘At least I’m consistent,’ I grin back.
‘I suppose Theo got another A minus.’
‘I believe he did,’ I say airily. And then I try and change the subject to something more important like, what’s for tea?
THURSDAY FEBRUARY 14TH
Earlier this week I just happened to mention to my mum that we’ve got to write an essay on the social changes during the reign of Henry VIII and ever since she’s gone into total overdrive about it. She spent a whole day on the Internet finding all this stuff about Henry VIII and the dissolution of the monasteries and much, much more. She’s also been to the library and brought back about two thousand books for me to read. It’s dead nice of her to be so interested, but it’s just too much interest, if you know what I mean.
FRIDAY FEBRUARY 15TH
Who’s in big trouble at school again? Who else but me?
In assembly this morning, Spitty was nattering away when someone started whispering (not me this time, honestly) and Spitty immediately stopped talking and stood very still with his arms folded. He went on doing this for about two years.
I whispered, ‘I think rigor mortis has set in,’ and, ‘Someone press play, for goodness’ sake.’ Just a couple of little jokes to alleviate the deadness. But unfortunately, Spitty heard my second joke and I was called up to the front.
I was told to wait outside his crypt and left the hall to the sound of my own footsteps. Every single person turned away from me as I walked past them, just as if I had something catching. All I’ve done, I thought, is whisper a couple of jokes to try and cheer things up a bit. At my old school everyone whispered in assembly. Even the teachers.
Spitty kept me waiting half the morning. Not that I cared. It was only lessons I was missing. Nothing important. And when I was finally admitted he was having his elevenses. He sat there chewing a slice of cake and eyeballing me in silence. Finally he hoisted his mighty buttocks out of the chair, put his face right up to mine, let loose that killer breath and uttered something I couldn’t quite catch. I nearly said, ‘Spray it again.’ Just stopped myself. Instead, I asked in my politest voice, ‘What was that?’
He moved his face even closer to mine. And just as he started talking a bit of cake flew out of his mouth and straight into mine, landing on my tongue!
I wasn’t at all sure what to do with it. I did think of somehow spitting it out . . . but in the end I swallowed it. Actually, all things considered, it didn’t taste too bad. And I was feeling a bit peckish, as it happens. But the whole incident was so totally bizarre that I started laughing uncontrollably. Really couldn’t help myself. On and on I went while Spitty gaped at me as if I’d gone totally mad.
Then he rumbled, ‘Why do you behave like this? You’re not just letting yourself down – but your parents too.’
Well, that brought an end to my giggling all right. I started to feel a bit guilty then. And I really hoped Spitty wouldn’t send for my mum and dad again.
I also decided that as my mum had got so keen about my Henry VIII essay I’d pull out all the stops on it. I’ve got no intention of making a habit of this, though. This is a one-off, unrepeatable offer.
SATURDAY FEBRUARY 16TH
Came downstairs this morning to find Dad parading about in tragic trousers. He was going off to play golf (for the first time in his life) with, of all people, Mike. And Mum was acting all excited about it. Another small sign, I fear, of my parents’ escalating madness.
TUESDAY FEBRUARY 19TH
Half-term and a week away from the hellhole. Sheer bliss – or would be if I weren’t so worried about my mum and the company’s she’s keeping.
A whole gang of women, including Prue and Olympia’s mum from next door, sat around swilling tea in the kitchen this morning. From the bits of conversation I overheard they seemed to spend the entire morning boasting about their offspring. All except Mum, that is: she was noticeably quiet throughout.
The very worst of them was Olympia’s mum. She just went on and on about Olympia’s musical talent. Then she started telling everyone that when she was pregnant with Olympia she played Mozart to her bump every morning. Now, how sad is that? And why is Mum spending time with such dubious characters?
WEDNESDAY FEBRUARY 20TH
‘Now, Louis, tell me what out-of-school activities you’d like to join,’ cooed Mum today. She’s even starting to sound like Prue now! She went on, ‘You’re the only one here not playing a musical instrument and that’s fine – not everyone is musical. But how about Art Club or Chess Club, they sound like good fun, don’t they?’
‘The very idea of them makes my flesh creep.’
Mum sighed. ‘We just don’t want you to feel excluded.’
She looked so concerned I said, ‘Actually, Mum, there is one club I’d like to join.’
‘Yes,’ she cried eagerly.
‘One which will tell you how to be a comedian.’
‘Oh, you don’t need any lessons in that,’ she said.
‘Thanks a lot, Mum,’ I grinned, as that was a really massive compliment. But Mum didn’t smile back.
THURSDAY FEBRUARY 21ST
Heard Mum on the phone arranging for Elliot to go to Chess Club and Art Club next week. He doesn’t know yet, poor little blighter. Who’d have thought I’d ever feel sorry for my brother. These are certainly strange times I’m living through.
SUNDAY FEBRUARY 24TH
Earth-shattering news. I worked on my history essay over half-term! It went against all
my principles, but I did it. Just hope my parents appreciate the sacrifices I’ve made for them. I’ve produced five fat pages and – prepare to be very impressed now – I’ve even checked the spellings. Bad spellers of the world untie. (Joke!)
THURSDAY FEBRUARY 28TH
Got the Henry VIII essays back today. To no one’s surprise, Theo got the top grade (but a mere A minus) while the lowest grade, D, went to me.
Wormold said that despite its length my essay was very muddled (I’d agree with him there) and looked as if it was copied. (Again I’d have to agree, as most of it was. Who am I to try and improve on what some learned geek had to say about Henry VIII?)
As soon as I got through the door Mum was looking all hopeful about my history essay. So I broke it to her gently. In other words, I lied a bit. ‘Everyone did really rubbish,’ I said. ‘And I got a D. Sorry.’ I said this last fact very quickly, with the unfortunate result that Mum thought I said I got a B. This made the true result even more of a downer.
Mum said, ‘Oh – a D,’ very tragically and then hissed, ‘And I suppose Theo came top.’
‘Yes, it’s so monotonous, isn’t it?’
Mum dropped onto a chair, a broken woman. I patted her on the shoulder and said, ‘You’ve got to remember, Mum, I’m just an idiot really.’
FRIDAY MARCH 1ST
Mum’s vigour restored, she came into my bedroom and declared, ‘Don’t worry about that history result, Louis, move on from it.’
‘Cheers for that, Mum.’
‘And one day,’ she went on, ‘I know you’ll make us very proud of you.’
So they’re not proud of me at the moment then. That’s a bit of a downer.
MONDAY MARCH 4TH
Tonight, I was in my bedroom struggling with my maths homework when I felt heavy breathing down my neck. I looked up to see Dad leaning over me like a vampire about to attack its next victim.
He hissed, ‘Just want you to know, Louis, that I shall be getting back from work at a reasonable time every night from now on. So whenever you want any help I shall be here for you.’
Tried very hard to look pleased, then waited for Dad to shuffle off again. Instead, he did something deeply annoying. He switched off the music I had playing in the background.
‘I think you’ll work better without this,’ he said. I tried to explain to him that I must have some kind of noise in the background like music or TV. If it’s totally silent my mind immediately wanders. But he only smiled at me in a patronizing way. So, I thought I’ll just wait for him to shove off and bung the music back on then.
But he didn’t leave. Instead, he lolled about on my bed slurping peppermints in a very annoying way. I sighed very loudly more than once but he didn’t take the hint. He just went on watching me.
TUESDAY MARCH 5TH
Tonight, Dad decided to stand behind me while I did my maths homework. I’d only just started when he coughed right down my ear and said, ‘Let me help you, because I can see you’re struggling. Now, this is how I used to do it.’
He explained it in such detail that I was even more confused than before. And then he got stuck himself (I tried very hard not to laugh). But he wouldn’t let it alone. I tell you, I haven’t had a moment’s peace from him tonight. Meanwhile, Mum’s been downstairs supervising Elliot. I hate to see my parents behaving so oddly. Mike and Prue have seriously disturbed the balance of their minds.
WEDNESDAY MARCH 6TH
Mum’s turn tonight. I’d written one line of my English homework when she cried out, ‘Oh, no.’ Made me jump right out of my skin. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you, love,’ she said. ‘But you’ve made a spelling mistake. Let’s get the dictionary and look up the correct spelling, shall we?’
You can imagine, dear diary, how long that English homework has taken me. And even when Mum sat down again she kept staring at me, looking both sad and hopeful at the same time. I think she’s waiting for the moment when I turn into Theo.
THURSDAY MARCH 7TH
You won’t believe what I’m going to tell you now, but it’s completely true. After I’d finished all my homework tonight and was in urgent need of a nice, relaxing computer game, Dad waved this huge maths book at me. ‘I think this will help you,’ he said. ‘It’s the best on the market. So how about trying some of the exercises at the front to start with?’
I was too astounded to speak at first. Finally, I said, ‘You do realize, Dad, that if you get me to do this extra homework you’ll be breaking all the child labour laws.’ He did grin a little at that and then said, ‘I’ll let you off with the first two pages, then.’
My bedroom is turning into a sweat shop.
FRIDAY MARCH 8TH
Had both Mum and Dad crashing in and out of my bedroom tonight. Now, I don’t mind them dropping in to tell me when tea’s ready. And I’ve never objected to Mum making my bed when I’m out. But they’re roaming about in here all the time now. And my bedroom is just not open to the public.
I asked them, quite politely, if I could please have some privacy back. But my parents are more on transmit than receive these days. And Mum just said wearily, ‘Oh Louis, please don’t take such an unhelpful attitude. Why are you always working against us?’
SATURDAY MARCH 9TH
Aliens have abducted my real parents to do tests on them in a small village in Mars. They’ve left me with these ghastly look-alikes. Well, the aliens must have done all their tests by now so can they please bring back my wonderful (though I never realized this before) old parents as I’m missing them a lot.
SUNDAY MARCH 10TH
Felt sort of depressed tonight. Decided to cheer myself up by watching a Crimewatch Special. I’d just settled down when Mum sprang in front of the screen. ‘How about,’ she cooed, ‘if the three of us share some quality time together?’
I would much rather have watched Crimewatch. But my opinion was totally irrelevant as Mum had already switched the telly off. Then she and Dad sat either side of me, smiling hopefully.
‘I think we should play a game,’ said Mum.
‘Murder in the Dark,’ I suggested.
They chuckled.
‘Truth or Dare?’
They chuckled again.
‘Hide and Seek. You two hide and I’ll try and find you . . . tomorrow.’
In the end we let our hair down with a wizard game of Monopoly – Dad’s favourite when he was a lad in the nineteenth century. They both kept beaming at me and saying what fun we were all having. ‘Now, isn’t this better than staring at some boring old TV programme?’ cried Mum.
Well, no actually. Now, I like my parents. I really do. But spending hour after hour with them like this just isn’t natural. And it’s so exhausting too. I went to bed totally shattered. I have now lived a whole month in a bedroom deprived of a television set.
MONDAY 11TH MARCH
You won’t believe what Theo told me today.
Every morning, on the dot of seven o’clock, the four members of Theo’s family sit round the kitchen table ‘chanting and affirming’. One day his dad might recite the three As: ‘Aspire, Achieve, Acclaim.’ After which, each of the children will chant those same words about fifty times!
Another time he might shout, ‘I must do better,’ at Theo and Theo will shout back the words at him, only even louder. Today they started the day with the cheering thought: ‘Never be satisfied – try harder.’
Well, I listened open-mouthed to all this. What a carry-on. And I started picturing the rest of Theo’s day: on the chain gang until half past three, then whisked off to play the French horn or something equally gruesome. After which, home to three hours of homework.
Now, what kind of life is that? I told Theo we’d all be a lot happier if we went back to the old days when children worked up chimneys. For a start, the hours were shorter. And at least chimney sweeps got a day off occasionally.
Even at the weekends Theo’s parents are organizing things for him. Just about every moment of his day is spoken for
. I asked him if he ever got sick of all this. He lowered his voice and admitted it did get a bit much sometimes. ‘Some nights I even have dreams about homework,’ he said.
‘What a waste of a dream,’ I said.
‘Well, I just can’t get school work out of my head. Now and again I escape to the park for a little while . . . and just for a bit I’m totally on my own. But then I have to go back again.’ He sighed. ‘Still, if you want the good things in life you’ve got to work hard, haven’t you?’
TUESDAY MARCH 12TH
What goes tick, tick, woof?
A dog marking homework.
Sorry, not very funny. But I’ve just had another terrible evening with the relics.
I’d hardly got in the door when they both moved in on me like a pair of jackals. And every time I moved tonight one of them was there tracking me. They’ll be timing how long I’m in the loo next. Feel as if I’m in one of those high security detention centres where you never get left alone for a moment.
WEDNESDAY MARCH 13TH
If you went to visit someone in prison you wouldn’t ask all brightly, ‘So how was your day, then?’ because you know the answer you’d get. ‘Rubbish, like every other day.’ And you certainly wouldn’t go on to ask, ‘How did you get on with slopping out today? Did it go well?’