Dad
You know that time when I was 8, and I used a can of black spray paint to spray my own name and that of the cousins who' been to visit about a week beforehand then, when you found it and asked me about it, denied all knowledge of?

That was me.

And the time that same summer when the old Morris Minor and even older Triumph Herald that were rusting on the tarmac outside the house, which you hoped you'd one day fix up, when some mysterious phantom that definitely wasn't me poked holes with one of your screwdrivers in the leatherette and smashed a few dials in? Well, that was also me.

Though, not being an idiot, you knew that perfectly well, but found my early attempts at lying hilariously funny. I'm not much better at it today, you may be happy to hear.

Strange. I only ever seem to write about my dad on QOTW...
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Tue 20 Sep 2011, 17:37, Reply)