Dear Bigson

Dear Bigson

It is good to have you home, for a little while.

Yes it means your brother and sister have had to swap rooms, yes this tiny bungalow is now a mess with no room to swing a cat, but I enjoy your company and you make me laugh; when you're here and awake, anyway.

I like the way you remind me of things. Things like how, for a very long time in young adulthood, having the right dance moves is a must, a matter of personal pride and as important as hygeine.

It was really lucky that we had workmen outside the house today, at least from your point of view, because I had no idea where a pair of pliers might be. Then again, if you must sit in the bath and re-open the 3 year old piercing in your nipple by forcing one of my darning needles through until its stuck fast, then the sight of your 6' frame, soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel at the waist, wandering up the side alley (face smiling, tit bleeding) to beg tools to finish the job is going to make me physically cringe and shudder, both in embarrassment and in thought of the pain.

I'm your mum and I can't help it. OK?

xx

P.S. No thanks, I don't want the needle to go back in the drawer now you're done. I don't want it back at all. Really.