My old folks were having ‘heated discussions’ before I ‘was a twinkle in anybody’s eye’. Born with ‘a silver spoon in my mouth’, I was reported to be ‘in the pink’ before being ‘shipped out’. My father with a face ‘like a bulldog chewing a wasp’, and my mother a bit of a ‘shrinking violet’.  Having ‘shot himself in the foot’, my father ‘took his anger out on’ my mother by beating her ‘to a pulp’, whereas she ‘couldn’t fight her way out of a paper bag’. I tried not to get ‘under his skin’ or in any way make him ‘flip his lid’. When Mum became unexpectedly ‘up the duff’ Dad was ‘fit to be tied’ and stormed forward, ‘guns blazing’, to ‘knock the stuffing’ out of her. I had ‘nothing up my sleeve’ and found my stomach was ‘tied up in knots’. He yelled that he’d ‘had it up to here’ with it, that she was ‘thick as pea soup’ and that I wasn’t exactly the ‘sharpest tool in the shed’ either. So I ‘let the cat out of the bag’ and told him he was ‘dumber than a bag of hammers’ and yelled at him to ‘go jump in a lake’. Now that Mum was ‘out cold’, he tried to give me ‘a knuckle sandwich’, so when I managed to ‘deal the fatal blow’ it was ‘a real Kodak moment’. So Dad had ‘kicked the bucket’, and I was afraid of being ‘caught in the act’. Mum and I packed, the ‘whole kit and caboodle’, but soon found ourselves ‘in deep doo-doo’ as she was ‘in the club’ and we didn’t have ‘two pennies to rub together’. Eventually my mother ‘did the Dutch’, so it was a case of ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’, and with two parents as ‘dead as a doornail’ I find it very hard to ‘look on the bright side’.

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