Dinner Time Diary Blues

Called down to diner, I arrive down stairs straight into the crossfire of a family argument. My sisters (Both 14) want to go to an under 18’s valentines disco party thing, my parents appose the idea. My parents ask them who is even going, they defiantly claim “no-one now”, they then seek refuge in the fact that last night (My dad was drunk), they were told that they might be able to go. My dad dodges is it and calls them evil fibbers, the reason for them not being able to go now falls to my mum, she’s not happy. “Do you know why your dad sits with a rounded back?… It’s cause he’s pathetic and has no spine”. My dad’s red sweaty face laughs it off. My sister sitting opposite is wearing a stupid pink scarf, or pashima, or whatever they are called. “why are you wearing a scarf at the dinner table?”, sneering eyes dart up to greet mine, and in one swift movement she manages to wiggle her head and mutter the words “why not?” in the most horrible, london injected tone speakable. The conversation now runs onto summer swimwear, my sisters are outraged how they have nothing to wear. My mum claims they have plenty of baccini’s upstairs, my sister now furious screams:” There All For Eight Year Olds!” The other sister (Proud Of Herself) tells us a story about how she pushed a fat girl at school of court, my dad impressed said after she should have asked the girl for a fight saying “come on, come have some”. My mum, silent for a while now, suddenly erupts with, “I used to fight at school”, usually if those arose at a typical family dinner the kids would be shocked and question the seemingly “crazy” mother. However, it has been long known in our household that my mum was once a notorious bar fighter, enjoying nothing more than going black sabbath gigs and getting drunk and fighting other women. My sisters now request a sleepover instead of the Chelmsford rape party, my parents are ok with it but they brainstorm aloud the problems of sleeping the children. My dad asked the girls where they expected their mother to sleep, to which they both simultaneously reply with, “Who Cares”. The girls are then told they will have to sleep in their room (which will be semi decorated at this point), they dismiss this proposition saying they would rather sleep in the hall. Now comes the next debate of where they will go for the 30 minutes between school finishing and my dad picking them up. My dad said they should “Flaff around at the park”, my sisters were not impressed and there jaws drop and eyes glaze over, my dad spots this, and in a very sarcastic tone says, “Won’t that be great”, before placing 2 thumbs up and grinning monotonously. The girls are asked what homework they have to do, sister 1 gets in a strop saying she can’t do it until she visits her friends house (This Friend Is Considered Undesirable In My House), her problem is that she isn’t able to do the homework as it’s to do with emotional art, and only her friend has all the answers. My dad plucks the painting “scream” out of the air, describing it with much finesse, “it’s that one of that guy screaming on a bridge, like this”, his heads drops to the side, his hands raise to his cheeks and he screams. My sisters giggle, look at each other and spontaneously erupt into a cackle fit. My dad, impressed that he could remember something of any worth claims “ive done your homework for you, now you don’t need to go round that girl’s house for make up tips”. My sister now performs the second synchronized act, she manages to click her tongue, look up and put her hand on her hip in dissatisfaction. My dad now goes to town, pulling the “scream face” and laughing at her stupid body language, “shut Up Dad” My dad’s head now swoops from side to side now screaming, “Let me get down, why am I even here”.