I love my Aunt. I lived with her for a couple of months after I turned eighteen. I owe her. She has poured gallons of alcohol down my neck over the years, and all I’ve done to repay her is wear out the clutch on her car.
She thinks I’d be a wonderful father. She never had children, which is why she dotes on me. I felt cruel telling her I am never having kids.
As a father, I’d be good at the cuddles and finger-painting. My offspring would enjoy music lessons and advanced literacy. But, but, but.
How could I possibly tell a child of mine to work hard at school? I never lifted a fucking finger, and I’m all right (Jack). Hell, I didn’t even turn up for my GCSE chemistry exam, and I still got a ‘B’. ‘Don’t do drugs, son!’ Yeah, right! I did them for years and years, and they only ever improved things. Don’t smoke cigarettes! Do your homework – it really makes a difference! Don’t drink cans of cheap cider in parks! I never did.