I am going to hell. Seriously.
About three weeks ago Jean had to leave work early and gave me a letter to post. It was by a small boy to his favourite band, Westlife. Jean asked me to find their fanclub address on the internet and post it off for him. This was her first mistake. Her second was asking me yesterday if I'd remembered to post it. In the middle of the childrens library. During storytime. Surrounded by about a dozen bored mothers and much too many people under the age of four.
'Fuck' I said.
Thankfully, most of the children ignored me and just went on brawling with each other and drawing on the walls. Their mothers, already pissed off with having to spend all day, every day with their offspring did not.
It gets worse. The boy in question, the fecker who wrote the letter, goes to a special needs school in Waterford. He spent (cringe) a whole hour typing up the three-page letter to Westlife and (wince) two weeks collecting signatures from the other kids in his school for the accompanying petition. And then there's this:
'PS: My favourite Westlife song is Wind beneath my Wings. My mum says it reminds her of me.'
The letter is, of course, lost. Knowing me, I probably used it as a taper to light a bonfire of orphans' Christmas presents. I spent a frantic half hour last night trying to forge forty kids' signatures on to a page but as it happens, Jean is off sick today so it look's like i'm in the clear. Until the day of reckoning anyway. There's no hiding from the big guy.