A Modern Problem

G'morning! I'm in a reasonably cheerful mood considering my monitor stopped working today and I had to trudge to Comet in the pissing rain to buy a new one. It's all set up now, so I can get back to the serious business of drawing dinosaurs for Classic Rock (don't ask).

I had to pick my mate's kid up yesterday because she was off to Nottingham to watch comedy (my mate, that is, not the kid ... she's a bit young for alternative comedians and their liberal attitude to the word 'motherfucker'). This involved hanging around outside Alice's school waiting for her to come out and not trying to look like a paedophile. It didn't help that it was the kid's teacher's last day on the job, so we left the school (which I've never picked her up from before, you'll note) with her bawling her head off and me thinking any minute now I'm going to be lynched for trying to kidnap a child that was clearly not my own. God I hate it. Last week I was hoodwinked into buying her a balloon animal and the man said "Thanks dad!" when I handed him the money. Alice darling turns round and shouts "He's not my dad!" and you could see it in balloon animal guy's eyes that the moment my back was turned he'd be on to the News of the Screws.

I'm one of those people who just comes across as 'being up to no good' I'm afraid. I used to live in a shared house a few years ago, and it turned out one of the tennants was a convicted burglar and crack-cocaine addict. He was hauled in by the fuzz when I was out on the razzle, and the first I knew about it was when two Detective Sergeants turned up the next morning to arrest me on suspicion of handling stolen goods (and Christ-alive was my fucking hangover a stinker that morning). They'd decided (on the evidence that the little bastard had stashed that night's ill-gotten gains under my bed) that Lee (and I have no fear of naming him, be'damned!) was out nicking the gear before passing it on to me to dispose of. So it was off to the Police Station for me for hours of intense questioning before they were finally convinced they'd got the wrong man. The sergeant told me he'd needed some convincing of my innocence because I came across as a 'bit shifty'.

This goes some way, then, to explain my paranoia when turning up at a school where no-one's ever seen me before and walking off with a kid who's screaming her fucking head off.