Ah

I feel bad.

I'd just spoken to Brother Wexford (I on the mobile, he on his landline) about the misfortunes of Middlesbrough FC (I mostly laughing, he mostly cursing his season ticket holder status). I'd also mentioned that our young sister, Sister Wexford, had been trying to recruit me into a campaign of wresting Brother from the clutches of his smothering ladychum, Karen. I assured Brother that sister was told to leave him to make his own decisions. Our phone chat ended convivially. 'Ta ta' said I, 'That sounded a bit gay' said he 'See y''. We put our phones down. I poured a glass of Rosé - fuel for my evening's working.

A moment later, a double bleep. '1 message received'. In its entirety, the message read:

'Got a new phone number it is xxxxxxxxxxx. Made a mistake putting in some code, so got a new sim card with new number'. 'Hmm, is probably forgetful Brother again - the oaf!' thought I. I replied:

'Thanks for that. New number duly noted. Shane. ps/ Who the fuck are you?' I wasn't feeling very literary.

A moment later, a double bleep. '1 message received'. In it's entirety, the message read:

'It's your Mam'. 'Hmm, I just wrote the word 'fuck' to my mum - that's not gonna go down too well' thought I. I replied:

'Ah. Probably shouldn't have sworn just there'.

A moment later, a double bleep. '1 message received'. In it's entirety, the message read:

'No. You shouldn't'.

I'm off to Tesco to buy a Flake, though I will have to take my foot out of my mouth before I eat it.

*****
I love Flakes.