Bedtime

It was an evening like many others for William. He'd had a hard but fulfilling day at work, enjoyed an excellent tea of dumplings and sauerkraut and had now put on his slippers and settled down in the lounge to read the paper. His two young fair-haired sons, fresh out of the bath, were sitting on the carpet in front of the fire watching a cartoon on the television. William pulled down a corner of his paper to look at them and felt immense pride. He then glanced at the clock and realized that it was past eight, the boys' bedtime.

'Right boys,' he said, using the exact same words he'd used every night for years, 'it's bedtime I'm afraid.'

The boys didn't stir, but continued to watch the cartoon as if nothing at all had happened.

'Are you listening boys?' ventured William again. 'I said it's bedtime.'

After another moment's silence, the two angelic boys in their jungle pyjamas, their golden hair still damp from the bath, turned towards their father and held up a middle finger each.

'Up yours, you tit!' they chimed in unison, before laughing uproariously and giving each other congratulatory slaps on the back.

'Come on now boys,' said William timidly, 'you've had a fair deal. I'll tell you what, you can read for a bit in bed, how's that?'

'You can read for a bit in bed more like,' piped up the eldest. 'Now go on, fuck off out of it, we're trying to watch this.'

William folded his paper sheepishly, tucked it under his arm and headed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

He paused momentarily at the foot of the stairs to listen to the boys, who had started chattering as soon as he'd left the room. They were swearing so prolifically that there was little room left for meaningful conversation. William shook his head and smiled, thinking to himself: 'My boys are becoming men'. Then he climbed the stairs and went to bed, where he read his paper for a while before falling into a deep sleep.

The Little Terrier

I was standing patiently at the bus stop one day, when a small terrier sauntered towards me before cocking its leg and urinating all over my trousers. I am accustomed to receiving abuse from folk in the town, on account of my molten-faced appearance and disgraceful body odour, but to have a dog ridicule me in this fashion was a little too much to bear. Fortunately an opportune moment presented itself for me to exact immediate revenge. The bus I had been waiting for was approaching and after casting a quick glance around, I booted the little dog under its front wheels. When I recall, as I frequently do, the yelping noise the dog made as the wheels of the bus squeezed the last bit of air out of its body, I feel a certain amount of regret, and not only because of the delay the 'accident' caused to my journey. I wonder if perhaps the dog wasn’t ridiculing me at all, but merely marking its territory.