When Arthur Shows His Face

I hate it when Arthur comes calling. I really do wish he would do one, just disappear already. Now I know what you think, but this really isn’t me being horrible. I just really wish he would f-off; my God, does he piss me off.

He shows his face like he has every right to be here, and in case you are wondering, no, he does not. I don’t see the need or reason for that face to be looking back at me, and for some reason, they all love him. They must do because they knock about with him like he is the new personality. The new face of the family. I think sometimes they just class me as touchy, and that I should like him.

Well, I am sorry.

I’m not sorry.

Arthur, I just have no time for.

I really don’t see the point; all he does is piss me off, and sometimes I swear they all go out of their way to make him seen. I understand that is a nice thing to do, to make someone seen, just not this one, not Arthur, not Half-A Job.

When someone builds the house in the wrong place, but the end result is a charming house that defies gravity, perched above the river on old stone bridge supports, reminding us of the importance of solid foundations.

Anyone in this house that does half a job gets called Arthur; it started as a bit of a joke that just stuck. If you don’t get it, it is probably an accent thing: Ar-fa for Arthur and Arf for half; it's not as funny when you explain it.

When they clean the kitchen but don’t wipe the sides, it’s annoying.

When they wash the clothes but leave them in the washer, or even take them out of the dryer but don’t fold them. Why?

Then have the audacity to moan at me because I have asked something.

Can you mow the grass? There is a big rigmarole because he had his day planned. I will let you in on a little secret: he didn’t, well, I suppose you can call playing on the PlayStation, going for a walk with your mum and dad for an hour and painting some of your models a plan. Although there are still household jobs to be done, it really isn’t a day job to quickly mow the jungle grass; you don’t even have to empty the grass box or rake after; it mulches. It is like a 30-minute job, or max an hour to do it perfectly with the strimmer. I don’t get the problem.

A man engages in peaceful protest by gardening, tending a patch of land with dedication, symbolising resistance and hope amid urban surroundings.

So right now he is outside mowing the grass with purpose. By the looks of him, quite possibly thinking of me as he rams the side of the shed with the mower.

I am upstairs hiding in the bedroom pretending to clean whilst I write about him not doing anything.

Hmm, I need to rethink my moans. But the grass will be cut.

I'd better get going before he catches me and actually hoover the bedroom; I brought the hoover up as a decoy.