I used to think nothing distracts me more than the sound of silence, I always need music on when I’m writing. However, I have now realised that nothing distracts me more than my dad sitting there in silence when I am trying to write my rant of the week.
Anybody who knows my father knows he is a joker and loves winding people up, and while this is all well and good, it is very distracting when I am trying to channel my creativity. Dad, your Scooby-Doo impression is great, but I have heard it approximately 1,367 times since birth and am trying to write a blog here. He always means well, but sometimes it can be more irritatng than he thinks. For example, five minutes ago he said he would light the fire for me because I am cold and right now all I can hear is the loud sound of chopping wood waking the whole house up. He always was an early bird, which was a delight for me at ten past eight on school mornings.
Don’t get me wrong, he has some uses, there’s usually cups of tea flying out of the kitchen every twenty minutes when he’s around, but I also know he does things to annoy me on purpose. When he calls me moody (Pffft, I never get moody), or when he says “You listen to some rubbish, don’t you?” as he presses play on Disco hits of the 70’s. Dad hun, what you at? Yes sir I can boogie, what does that even mean?? He is currently singing “Boogie nights uh-huh uh-huh I like it” while shoveling coal, and no sir, he cannot boogie. This, obviously, is an issue for me as I am trying to listen to Ellie Goulding.
He has now informed me that his dog Fido would be over 350 years old in dog years if he was still alive because his birthday was yesterday. He can’t remember my age but can remember the important details about a dog that died in 1978…
I’m moving out…
