Thursday, 15 October 2009

Taking the p***

I am trying to write a blog post while my son stands in the bathroom, complaining that "I need ANOTHER pee!!". Aargh. Poor thing has had a course of antibiotics recently for a suspected urine infection, however, the test results came back negative, so now I'm worried about what could be wrong instead. Hmm. Must try not to worry & chill out more, according to what my son's teacher said at parents' evening last night.
Anyway, onto the "news" that I mentioned in my last post. Yes, The Swede & I finally took the plunge, by jointly deciding that me & My Son are going to move to Sweden to be with him. WOW. It looks scary in
Although I am naturally apprehensive about moving so far (there'd be something wrong if I wasn't, I figure), I am also keen to "get going" with our plan. Lately, there are more & more things which reinforce just what a rough & nasty country I am presently living in. Everything from the boy who has decided to cause trouble for My Son in class by making up stories about supposedly vicious things My Son has done, & getting me into a tizz, then according to the school staff, it's all been bull****, & he was in fact perfectly behaved on those occasions. (There's nothing more demoralising for me than worrying because my child has behavioural issues anyway, without some evil little toad stirring it by making things up!!). To the scene I saw when walking home with some shopping along the local main road today.
Picture this: A woman of about 25yrs old, a "man" of about 18 years old, a child who was clearly old enough to be in school.All standing on the street, scruffily dressed, stuffing their faces with crap & puffing on cigarettes (apart from the child, amazingly enough). The poor boy was crying his eyes out, while the mother screamed at the top of her lungs that it was a "Bad idea to keep him off school because he's a f****** whinging b******". Or something akin to that-it was hard to tell exactly, because the force & speed with which she was screaming actually made it hard to distinguish the words. The "F" & "B" were definitely there though. Meanwhile, "Dad" stood there tutting, & giving the son disparaging looks.
I desperately looked around for the local policeman I often see on his beat round there (Where are they when you need them?). Alas, he was nowhere to be found. I made an on-the-spot judgement to walk away, only for fear that I would get punched in the face (or stabbed) if I challenged the "parents" & told them what a disgrace to humanity they were. God, I felt terrible though, that poor child, & I couldn't do anything for him.
Later, after taking My Son to his Thursday night club, I actually saw the woman & child in the street again. No screaming of abuse this time, but they were stuffing their faces with crap again. Now I can't claim to have always been the healthiest eater, but I wouldn't dream of feeding my child several pasties & more than one bottle of fizzy pop a day.
Or am I just a snob?
Anyway, these two delightful episodes (the viciousness of that horrible brat at school, & the vile mum in the street) have just about made my mind up. And you know what?
I won't miss Britain.

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