Welcome to the house of fun

Chez auntiegwen - a flavour if you please, a little taster of what my life can be like.

I get home to be greeted by TBS and BBD so excited they could burst. They proffer a tin of cat food and try to lead me to the conservatory where they tell me is the new pet cat Hot Boy has bought them. I am feart of cats, cats would be my last choice of pet - no harm to any readers who have cats, I'm sure yours are lovely, I'm just scared of them.

This followed a conversation that we've had many, many times over the years where the kids ask for a cat/dog/guinea pig/hamster/bunny rabbit/pony and I say no. The animal changes the answer doesn't. Hot Boy asked if he and EBD could get a cat, I say no (waste not your time wondering why Hot Boy wants a cat at my house, he thinks he lives here, he thinks he's one of us, he's even asked if he and EBD split up if I'll convert the garage for him as sleeping in the same bed with her would be awkward, he's only half joking) Hot Boy tells me he'll just get one anyway. I tell Hot Boy on no account is there a cat to be bought and brought to my house.

Hot Boy is the most difficult to manage of them all, he is the one I have least control over. He is the most impulsive of them all, he also has cash to fund this impulsiveness. He is less scared of me than the others as when I get to full fat cross shouty shreikeyness as he can leave and go to his own flat. He also has his own Mummy, he doesn't need me the way the others do. This is a deadly combination.

So as we go towards the conservatory, I am ready to kill Hot Boy, I am searching in my phone for his number and I am ready to do full fat cross shouty shreikeyness down the phone. It's not the same but it'll have to do.

We get to the conservatory and I make the others go in first to collect the cat, who I'm now worried that it'll have gone mad being cooped up in there and will have scratched the furniture to bits and shit all over my cream sofas. I'm hiding in the dining room scared to go much further and I'm now trying to work out what to do with this feckin cat.

Then TBS and BBD crack and nearly piddle their frillies, total wind up from them all, even to the extent of buying the cat food.

Bar stewards the lot of them.

This was on top of EBD fake pregnancy frape on FaceBook, which nearly caused my mother to have another stroke and more than a few people called and texted me to find out if it was actually true.

And TBS Facebook posting of a picture of chopped up polo mints, shaped into a line with a rolled up fiver beside it entitled "How to scare the living shit out of your Mum"

My life is so much funnier when you're only reading about it.