My mother embarked on holiday to Greece yesterday with my aunts and has left my dad, my brother and I to look after ourselves for a week. Can’t say I blame her.
I was kind of dreading it because it’s a Duke of Edinburgh expedition on Saturday, and I have English coursework due in tomorrow that I really can’t do since my MP3 player is the most basic thing since unsliced bread and has less memory.
Actually, it was all going okay until half an hour ago. I’ve sussed out the washing machine, I have a newfound appreciation of the dishwasher, I haven’t exploded anything and Maxim and I have both eaten. Then Dad decided I have to walk the dog. Don’t get me wrong, I love Fred, Fred is an amazing dude, but the way it goes is that I stop the washing from going mouldy, Maxim stops us from starving and Dad stops Fred from eating furniture by taking him on a walk.
Oh no. Dad’s been at work all day (so have I) and it’s tough (so are high school French lessons and homework) and because Maxim has boxing, I get to walk Fred and clear his crap off the pavement . Regardless of the fact I cut open the back of my ankle on my shoes and need to work out how to get The Vote Now Show on my MP3 to transcript it in tomorrow’s English lesson.
I don’t think Dad even knows I am taking GCSEs.
I hope it’s raining in Zakynthos. Or that it’s too expensive to buy anything except fish heads.
Happy belated Star Wars Day.