There has been an extraordinary amount of change recently. And, surprisingly, all for the better. No longer am I sharing a bedroom with my Mother and sister in a cramped, over crowded flat. We have moved to a beautiful four bedroom detached house with a garden. It has stairs…STAIRS!! I cannot believe my luck. The amount of fun a set of stairs can produce is practically endless. From pelting people with miscellaneous objects whilst they are making their way up, to setting traps on the bottom step using small, sharp toy cars. The twice daily outbreak of fisticuffs when I am told to brush my teeth has been enhanced by the introduction of these marvellous steps. I can scamper away, out of the upstairs bathroom, lead the chase all round the ground floor of the house and have my unfit (in oh so many ways!) mother huffing and puffing and red faced before 7.30 am. The feeling is exhilarating and a super start to the day.
Instead of the communal outdoor space we now have our very own garden. It is edged with trees, blackberry bushes and a patch of what looks suspiciously like Japanese Knotweed. There is also a very large, ominous yew tree which stands next to a peculiar small stone wall which could, at a glance, be mistaken for a headstone. Nobody has been brave enough yet to make a thorough inspection. My mother has placed a single colour changing solar light by the stones to try and make that section of the garden less creepy however, it has only added to the macabre scene. It now looks like a very weak nod towards festivities for the Day of the Dead.
At the end of the garden we have installed a trampoline although at present it is minus the safety enclosure net and I must say, I do not hold out much hope for this being put up. I fear the occasional bellow of, “BE CAREFUL! YOU’LL CRACK YOUR BLOODY SKULLS OPEN!!” absolves my mother (in her head) of any responsibility should an accident occur. The redundant foam covers for the netting poles make fantastic swords. My siblings and I use these in bouncy wrestling matches as they cause minimal damage yet are still capable of satisfying the aggressive streak needed in such a situation. Therefore, the Lazy Trampoline Maker and the Over Excited Bouncers are both happy to forego the usual safety standards making it an all round win/win.
The one thing I was missing from our old abode was the hole in the dirt my associates and I had been cultivating near the patio. I took it upon myself to rectify the matter a fews weeks after we had moved in. I started digging by hand a new hole right by the conservatory step. It was a work in progress and would take many months of toil to create one similar to the last. I was pondering this whilst gazing into the shallow hole from the conservatory step when an idea formulated in the back of my mind. I had an opportunity here to mastermind a new project and start something of my very own doing, something that I could call my very own work. It was at this very moment “The Wee Hole” was born. I quickly did some rough calculations and found that if I stood on the step with my toes gripping the edge I could urinate in an arch and make the golden fluid land quite gracefully into the hole in the lawn much like a real life cherub at the centre of a water fountain. I am not one to brag, but this idea was genius and I even stunned myself by how utterly creative I had been to perform this inspiring tableau. I was able to keep this secret project to myself for a few days. My mother who, as we all know, is oblivious to the world of culture and art, happened across me performing The Wee Hole one sunny morning as she ventured into the garden to peg the tea towels on the washing line. The eyes of the uncouth swine widened to the size of cereal bowls and she proceeded to scream like a peasant at market selling her wares, “JESUS CHIRST! THAT’S REVOLTING!! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!”. I most certainly did not stop. I carried on until I had finished my business like any true actor would. I hitched up my jogging bottoms and sauntered back inside to catch up with Cbeebies. The Wee Hole has now become a guilty pleasure I can only indulge in when nobody else is around. My mother knows The Wee Hole lives on in secret because of the way it becomes damp and muddy every so often yet she lacks any real proof to accuse me further. Ha!
It has only been a few months and already I can feel myself reaping the benefits of all the new space we have now. I can feel myself unfurling like a beautiful butterfly emerging from his chrysalis and I await summer and its long hazy days with bated breath.
Sending love and light to you all, dear Readers.
Edward x
The diary of Edward Slark. 