The Secret Diary of Stuart George Henderson, Aged (almost) 2 ¼


I’m excited today to have something to fill up the pages of this bad-boy diary. Normally I’m just mooching around, playing with my toys, filling my nappies. Occasionally I go crazy and throw a juice box across Auntie Gina’s kitchen, but hey, I’m just a guy that lives on the edge.

I had no idea when morning came that yesterday would be like no other. Woke up normal time, went to nursery as usual. Did some bad-ass paintings, and used all the green glitter before Freddy got his hands on it. Ha, in your face Macdonald. That’ll teach you for stealing my biscuit at break time.

It comes round to home time. Had a date with Charlotte (hot chick, sits on the Blue Table); I’d planned ahead and was wearing my best keks – she wouldn’t have much chance at resisting my boyish charms. Whilst I was scrubbing the last of the green glitter off my hands, Dad arrived, backpack in hand. Good, I thought. There’s sure to be a dairylea triangle or two in there. There better be, or someone’s getting the full force of my tantrum later. To my surprise, Dad loads me into the back of a taxi. Now I know this isn’t the way to Charlotte’s and I’m starting to get angsty, until we pull up at the AIRPORT. I’m starting to wish I’d had more time to plan. Mum had bought that funky pair of board shorts for that holiday to Portugal we were meant to go on with that shady-looking property developer guy, but I’d never got the chance to test them out. Dad got the tickets and it was Malaga – jackpot! Watch out chicas, I’m on my way!

We settle in to lunch – I found a pretty tasty spot on the table that needed some further investigation. So I gave it a lick. Turns out that was a bad idea. Dad – 1, Me and the table – 0. I’m only halfway through my sandwich when Dad yanks me away to get on the flight. Can’t a guy finish a meal around here? But do we end up on a plane? Hell no. We end up in a toilet. Is it any wonder I’m bawling my eyes out Dad? You can’t drag me all the way here and dangle sun, sea and senoritas under my nose without delivering.

Before I knew it, Auntie Gina is rushing towards me (quite an achievement in heels, so I’m led to believe) and Mum is scooping me up in her arms. DCI Donald Duck (think that’s his name - that cop who’s got his eye on Mum) is questioning a lady about Dad – she tells him he’s in the viewing gallery. If only I could form proper sentences. Dad is just standing over there! I tried to wave but no one seemed interested…

So I wake up this morning, pyjama’d-up, Auntie Gina’s reading me Tommy for the umpteenth time (I can write a diary, I think I’m about ready for The Gruffalo, don’t you?), when Dad arrives back. God knows where he’s been but he’s looking pretty dog-rough. He wants to read me Tommy too. I CAN READ! I want to scream. But before I know it, he’s jumped in. Yes, Tommy, its still raining…

Seriously, who goes to the airport and never gets to see a plane?

Til tomorrow, Diary…

Stu

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  • Comment number 1. Posted by CAM3112

    on 9 Feb 2013 15:48

    This made me laugh out loud - brilliantly done! I live in Aberdeen, but was not brought up in Scotland, so the "best keks" sentence especially tickled me. I always enjoy these blogs so am hoping they'll return to being weekly - have never missed an episode of River City, I'm a huge fan.

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