Of all the families, in all the world, why did this lot have to be mine?
… BORING! Why couldn’t I have a proper family like Jason’s next door? He got his nose pierced for his thirteenth birthday; all I got was a stupid gold locket. His mum wears tartan jeans with chains on, has purple hair and rides a motorbike. Why couldn’t Mum be more like that? His younger brother Alfie’s allowed to bring worms to the dinner table and keeps a tarantula in his bedroom. My brothers, George and Harry, are sat like bookends either side of the sofa, wearing matching jeans and tee-shirts, not talking, not doing anything; just watching television. They’re twins. That’s supposed to make them special!
BOR – OR – ING!
Reckon I must have been abandoned at birth. There’s no way this family is mine. Maybe someone got the babies confused in the hospital. One day my real parents will realise the mistake and come to fetch me.
That's why I've decided to start writing this blog, in the hope that my real family may come across it one day and claim me back.