By Bert, aged 3.9
On Sundays I am supposed to see my dad. This Sunday he could not make it but as he does not want to lose his Access Rights he sent one of his friends to take me out instead and told me not to tell my mum that he wasn’t there.
Dad’s friend said I could call him Uncle Steve and he said we could go to the Seaside, but he seemed sad.
The Seaside was silent and grey. We went past a shop with chickens in it and Uncle Steve started beating against the window. “Those poor chickens!” he said. “It is terrible what has been done to them!” I said it was not as bad as when people get murdered but Uncle Steve did not agree. He said you could murder a hundred people and it would not be as bad as eating a Zinger Tower Burger, which made me sad because I like the hash brown in it.
We were trudging slowly over the wet sand up towards the pier and I was hungry. Normally my dad takes me to KFC but I thought that might not be a good idea so I asked Uncle Steve if we could go to McDonalds. He said that was worse than if I had run over a thousand kittens.
There was an Indian restaurant on the promenade and I asked if we could go in there. “We’re being flooded, and our identity’s disappearing,” he said, shaking his head. “The price is too much.” I said what did he mean and he pointed at the sea and said he only meant that the tide was coming in and that the restaurant was expensive and he shouted at me to say I should not take his comments out of context but I did not know what that meant.
I said could we go to the Chinese buffet then. “No!” he shouted. He looked angry.
We trudged back over pebbles and mud into the town. I was so hungry and I said what would it be OK to eat and he handed me a piece of paper with lots of small writing on it and there was too much to read but I saw it said that he would not eat any kind of chili or spices but that he would have some nuts and a Fanta.
Uncle Steve gave me 60p to buy us a bag of cashews but I had to go into the newsagents on my own because he did not want to walk past the Peperamis. When I came back with the cashews he was angry because they had salt on them and he said he dearly wished he was not here. I said I was not really enjoying my day out either.
Before we went home he made me sign a note to say that MEAT IS MURDER. I did not mind signing it because he had already said that murder was nothing compared to meat so it did not make sense anyway. I think Uncle Steve is a bit confused and I hope he cheers up soon.