Back at home.

I stayed out for two nights.

I slept on a sofa, and um, a sofa.

I hate sleeping on sofas.

I did the hardest thing I could think of.

I called Dad.

I said “Dad, I’m sorry”.

He just said “Come into the office son”.

I wasn’t sure of that idea. But I did. I was humble. I said sorry again.

And we agreed that I’d been a twat (my word, not his). We agreed that I’d caused mum all sorts of worry that she didn’t need,and that his dad would have beaten him black and blue before kicking him out. OK. I agreed to every stupid thing he said, but I was, in fact I am, sorry.

The trouble is now I can’t wait to leave hime again, just when I thought I was getting myself a bit sorted out.

I might just have to consider a real job – like the one driving for the Coo.

I’ll let you know.

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