A forever work in progress

“Have you read this?” George asks tapping his finger on an article in the Times newspaper. His wife Linda stoops down to look as George angles the paper so she can read it better. She shakes her head.  “Didn't realise you had an interest in halal meat.” “Hah. You're funny. I don't. I'm just amazed at the jingoistic crap that politicians spout nowadays.” “Hasn't it always been like that?” George stops to contemplate the question. Maybe she has a point.  “Yeah probably now you come to mention it. That being said, it is utterly ridiculous. Here's the line that got me. Causing animals unnecessary pain and severe suffering is pure cruelty, and not the British way. I'm sorry but you're trying to raise a point about the way animals are being slaughtered for meat. Whichever way they're killed isn't great for the animal is it? They're dead. End of. What do they think happens if it's not halal? Take a lamb for example, do they lay down next to them...

“What's it like inside that big old brain of yours?” "Would you like it on loan?” “Maybe for a day but I fear my head might explode.” “Oh. Do you really think it's that dangerous?” “Depends on how thick your skull is I guess.” “Are you saying I've got a thick skull?” “Can I tap it before I answer you?” “Can I punch you on the nose once you've done it?” “Ahhhh.” “Yes ahhhh!” “Sorry.” “And so you should be. Anyway, why do you ask?”  “Well you can be quite…how do I put this delicately? Random.” “I think you might need to work on your delicacy. That was like watching a rhino trying to tiptoe its way through a field of daisies without squashing any. Doesn't everyone have random thoughts? Is it a bad thing?” There followed a long thoughtful pause.  “Actually no. No it's not bad at all. I shouldn't worry. I mean I find it amusing… no that's not the word… erm, interesting, no that won't do either… fascinating. Yes, let's go with fascinating. Is tha...

"Hey love how was your day?" Keirans mum asks him before she let's out a large groan as she puts several heavy bags of shopping down on the kitchen floor.  "Oh you know?" He responds answering in that way teenagers do that doesn't provide any answer at all which then annoys parents the world over and leaves them wishing that they hadn't bothered to ask at all.  "No I don't know which is why I asked!" His mother replies bluntly, fed up of this daily ritual after a hard day's work.  "Sorry," was the single one word reply not even bothering to look up from the phone in his hand which was currently winning the war for his attention. She's learned not to bother to tell him to put it down and listen. It really isn't worth the aggravation. Instead she leads with "Mrs Allen said you were late home." That got his attention. He looks up from his phone, annoyance written all over his face "Fucking Mrs Allen…" ...