Back in Print

Sort of. Spasmodically. And the Chief Censor has asked me to state up front not to read on if you are a sensitive soul and will be offended by the use of the F word and the C word as there will be a few of them. Actually probably a lot.

Not that I'm in a bad mood. Far from it - I'm almost back to normal after a hellish few weeks. And I bet all my four regular readers are dying to know what has been going on. OK, you probably aren't but I'm going to tell you anyway.

The (very) short story is I have a 13 y.o. stepson who either has just had a bodybuilder's dose of testosterone or is on P (overseas readers: P is another name for methamphetamine; speed etc). I hope the former but suspect the latter. And of course the latter is (too) vigourously denied.

It all started one evening when during a gentle discussion (alright, heated argument) I lost it when he told me (and I quote verbatim) "fuck off you cnut". Now usually I do have some sort of self-control but not at this particular moment and during a moment of rage smashed his TV. OK, probably not conducive to a harmonious family environment but it was a choice between his face and the TV, and I think I made the right choice. Although I'm still not 100% sure of that. Well at least Constable Yandall told me I did.

Oh yes the cops got involved. During Round 2 (a wrestling match on the lawn) he told me (again I quote) "I'm going to fucking kill you, you cnut", a threat he repeated some days later when we had Round 3 and I also learnt he had told some friends he was going to get a knife and stab me. Possibly not genuine but on the off chance his suspected drug-addled brain decides to carry out said threat at least the cops won't have to look too far.

Suffice to say he and I no longer live under the same roof - I do have a few things to do before I'm 6 foot under - and the last couple of weeks have seen trying to sort out this mess, and my head, at the cost of working.

Which swings me back to betting (after all this is a sports and betting blog); after a stupid overbet on the first cricket test between England and the West Indies I had to knock betting on the head until my brain was in a fit state to function. Unfortunately gambling (for a living) requires clarity of thought and if you don't have a clear head, it's down tools and baked beans.

I'm nearly there - which means I might also start to post back here - but not regularly yet.

And a final word. It's a fucked up country when a 13 y.o. can threaten to kill and the cops can't do anything because he's too young, yet if I so much as lay a finger on him from July 1 I can be done for assault. I'd like to send the little shit down to live with Sue Bradford for a month and whoever drafted the Care of Children Act that gives parents responsibilites rather than rights.

Actually in the visit to the lawyer (yep, cops, lawyers - if this had been a reality TV programme it would have rated through the roof) he told me as a step-parent I don't have protection under Section 59 of the Crimes Act anyway. Brilliant - how the fuck are welded together families meant to teach right from wrong if you can't give a little shit a kick up the arse occasionally?

But this is a sports and betting blog. And it will return to that next post (whenever that may be) now that I've had a little self-therapy banging away on the keyboard. Have a good week.