  An afternoon with the Gub Monster Taking the day's events into our own hands, rather than wait for the "What are you doing today? " phone call, we invited the girl over for the afternoon (her man dosn't leave their flat very often). She brought the milk monster©, which for copyright purposes we will call the "Gub Monster". "Gub" is the word used when the little one (also known as "Puke Monkey") wants her breast feed.
We took them on the train to Dawlish Warren, that reknowned den of iniquity and destination of holiday makers from Coventry and Brummagem. Since they have demolished all the little huts selling utter tat on the Warren, the place has been redeveloped with a few new buildings. These include a large new shop (selling tat), an amusement arcade, and a pub. The buildings are all rather lightweightly constructed as their foundations are based on sand and gravel. After a visit to the fairground by the station and a ride for the Gub monster and M on the little train, we proceeded to the shop, where I spent a tenner on some tat for the girl and her offspring.
Said offspring selected a rattly wheely thing on a stick which, with great difficulty, she was parted from for 5 seconds in order to scan it. We then retired to the pub and sat outside. M bought the drinks while the girl and I wiped the rain off the benches with a (unused) nappy. I thought it would be jolly to steal the new rattly, sticky, wheely thing from the Gub while she was busy getting soaked playing in the standing rainwater on the other benches. Silly Me. The world's largest tantrum ensued, which included: throwing herself to the ground; banging her head on said ground; screaming; making quite amazing tantrum faces; refusing to take the rattly, sticky, wheely thing back; and generally making a fuss for at least 10 minutes.
Wow. What a fine temper. She spent the rest of our time there trying to escape and Gubbing. Discussions included subjects such as "how nice my ex is i.e. my ex girlfriend" (a subject upon which I declined to participate. It is dangerous when your partner starts to talk about your ex, and even worse when they start to get on with her: what if they find they have something in common?
It doesn't bear thinking about), and how much their boyfriend/ex partner drink/drank too much and how awful they were and thats why I will leave him/why I left him. Fortunately in this subject I was gently treated ("you might drink, dad, but you can handle it/you might drink, lordhutton, but you dont change into that raving beer monster that he used to"). Anyway, on our journey back to the station, I managed to spend a further 20 quid at the Tat shop on the girl and her girl.
Quite how, I dont know. At least someone treats them now and again. I dont envy her, stuck in their flat all day, not going out much, entertaining him and his family, him never going out. Oh well. I was supposed to be making supper but now M has had to do it. Whoops, I better run. A 
