Sundays

This is Biff.

Biff’s homework for the weekend is to make a model of the Taj Mahal out of the recyclable items her family have used in the last week. The homework must be handed in on Monday morning.

Biff is not planning to mention this homework to her parents until approximately 8.59pm on Sunday evening.

This is Chip.

On Friday night, Chip took off all of his school uniform and shoved it down the back of his bed, to join all of the other school uniform he has worn since the start of the year. Chip will not realise there is any kind of flaw in this plan whatsoever until either he has to go to school naked, or his parents call in Environmental Health to deal with the god-awful stench which is emanating from his bedroom.

This is Kipper.

Kipper took a shit behind the sofa earlier. Kipper is wondering just how long it will take his parents to find it.

This is Mum.

Mum dreams of happier, simpler times, sipping cocktails on a beach with a shirtless Tom Hardy by her side.

Mum has spent the entire weekend at her family’s beck and call. She enjoyed a brief respite of twenty-six seconds’ peace when she went to the toilet to change her tampon, until they discovered where she was and queued up outside to continue yelling their series of demands through the door at her.

This is Dad.

Dad has cooked Sunday lunch for the family.

This has involved using twelve pans, four roasting dishes, seven bowls, twenty-four spoons, a jug, the blender, the Kitchen Aid, and the fire blanket.

The kitchen now looks as though it has been sandblasted with gravy granules and Yorkshire pudding batter.

Dad is lying down on the sofa watching Match of the Day and drinking beer because he has worked very hard on the total destruction of the kitchen.

Mum spends her Sunday afternoon wiping gravy granules, Yorkshire pudding batter and smoke debris from all kitchen surfaces and swigging at intervals from the bottle of cooking sherry.

Mum does not know that the cooking sherry is not actually cooking sherry any more because Gran necked that back the last time she was over.

The cooking sherry is now a blend of Night Nurse and cold tea.

Floppy the dog comes into the kitchen.

Floppy has something brown around his mouth.

Floppy was the only one of the family clever enough to find the poo that Kipper left behind the sofa.

Floppy is a fucking liability.

At ten o’clock this evening Mum will be sitting up creating a Taj Mahal out of empty wine bottles and putting on her fifteenth boil wash of the day to counteract the actions of Floppy, Chip and Kipper, with only her Night Nurse and cold tea cocktail to keep her company.

This is a typical Sunday.

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