Biff Chip and Kipper and the Play Date

This is Chip.

Chip has his friend Wilf round for a ‘play date’.

This is Mum.

Mum is deeply concerned by the ramifications of an additional small child entering her home, not to mention appalled by the twee twattishness of the phrase ‘play date’, but was eventually worn down by Chip’s promises that Wilf is “really good”.

Chip lied.

It turns out Wilf is not “really good”, but is in fact the Dark Lord himself in human form.

Within ten minutes of arriving, Wilf has written a series of obscenities on the walls in red felt tip pen, thrown all of Chip’s Lego out of the window onto the conservatory roof, and left a huge floating turd which smells of death in the upstairs toilet.

Mum makes the children tea. Wilf’s mummy told her that Wilf eats “absolutely anything, he’s so good”.

“URRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH, I’m not eating that, what are you trying to do, poison me?” shrieks Wilf at the sight of the fishfingers and chips and peas Mum has prepared.

Wilf makes realistic vomiting noises and does not eat a single thing. Biff and Chip and Kipper laugh and make vomiting noises too.

“Fuck my life,” says Mum, counting down the minutes until Wilf is collected as she hides in the cupboard under the stairs and has a restorative slug of gin.

Several restorative slugs of gin.

Wilf’s mummy is thirty seven minutes late to collect him.

Each one of those thirty seven minutes feels like a week.

This is Floppy the dog.

Floppy uses the additional thirty seven minutes Wilf is there to chew up Wilf’s new Nike trainers, which Wilf’s mummy sent him in, telling Mum “these are limited edition and absolutely mustn’t get damaged”.

Mum has a very special word for mummies who send their children on ‘play dates’ wearing limited edition designer trainers.

Wilf has already written that word in red felt tip pen on the living room wall.

“Floppy, you fucking liability,” says Mum in horror, looking at the chewed up bits of Nike trainer.

Finally, just as Wilf and Chip are about to start a competition to see who can wee up the wall the highest, Wilf’s mummy arrives.

“Oh, my little man,” says Wilf’s mummy. “Have you been having a lovely time?”

Unfortunately for Wilf’s mummy, it is Gran who answers the door.

Gran has been on the cooking sherry since lunchtime, and wastes no time in telling Wilf’s mummy exactly what she thinks of her ‘little man’.

Mum manages to intervene at the point Gran offers to give Wilf “a good public flogging, that will sort him out,” and distracts Wilf’s mummy with the state of Wilf’s trainers.

Mum ends up contributing most of her monthly mortgage payment towards a new pair of trainers for Wilf, despite the fact that she estimates the cost of damage he has caused to her property to be several hundreds of pounds.

“We must do this again soon,” says Wilf’s mummy with a tinkly little laugh, as she leads her hellbeast child off the premises.

“Over my dead fucking body,” says Mum.

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