It’s not my fault! I had nothing to do with it. I was nowhere near Roscoe when he got into a fight. I had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t my fault he put his neck between somebody’s teeth. It was dark. Why do you always pick on me? Just because I’m the youngest! I’m not going to play anymore. I don’t want to do it.
Percy here: Sorry. Our little tearaway is just suffering from hormone-fuelled guilt, I think. He’s now been grounded until he can be more polite to you all. I think we need somebody from Downstairs to do some blogging, anyway. Let me introduce you to Roscoe, who is sporting a very dashing scar on the right side of his cheek and neck.
Way-aye, this is Roscoe here. Some people say my accent can be a little hard to follow, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. I see young Bertie has had a wobbler up there, well, I wouldn’t call it good manners what he did, but now I’m all fixed up, like, so no harm done.
I’d like to thank Auntie Dawn, who I’ve not met yet, for her good idea about the ladies finding scars attractive. Wor mam says it’ll probably be fine once my lovely long hair grows back, and I hope it does soon, ‘cos its a little chilly around the front end, if you know what I mean? Dr Sally said she’d had to make a bigger hole than usual, because the lump had got so big. At least, she said that when she was talking to wor mam afterwards, when mam came to tek me home. I was pleased as punch to go home, I can tell you. It was nice enough there in hospital, but I like me home, and I suspect that young Neville was missing me.
So, I hope Percy invites me back to talk to you some more. Cheerio till next time.