Evel or Evil?

Yesterday’s corner time: 35 Minutes.

The Post Office called in the morning and requested that we either collect Becca from their depot or pay the excess charge to ship her to Peru.

Unfortunately, Mum took the call, so we had to go collect her.

Although he hadn’t managed to apprehend me this time, I think Dad was secretly pleased that he had been right - 20 x 1st class stamps wasn’t enough and the mail service does have more frequent collections on a Monday.

In the afternoon, it was raining and once I had been let out of the corner, I was allowed to bring my tricycle indoors.

I promptly turned the ground floor of our house into a Formula 1 Grand Prix circuit, racing around like a complete lunatic.

Unfortunately, my tricycle doesn’t have any brakes, so I had to stop by crashing into things such as chairs, doors, Becca and Grandad John.

Admittedly, I had to take a minor detour to get Becca as she was sleeping on the sofa at the time. Mum found her lying on the floor with a wet tyre mark across her chest.

Dad started calling me Evil Knieval and then just Evil for short.

Matthew.

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