The Pain in Spain.....

Today, I was woken at 5am by the phone ringing impatiently. Assuming it was my mother, I answered in my usual respectful way.

"Whaaaaaathef..."

"Are djoo wake?"

Oh god, worse than my mother, it was my father's dreadful partner, Marisa.

"No. I'm fast asleep." I replied. "But don't worry. When I wake up I'll tell myself you called."

She ignored me. As always.

"Ees djoor papa's beerthday soon, an' I go breeng heem to Escotlan' for soorprise. But we no goin' stay weeth djoo; djoo hab house full of soogar!"

"Yes," I agreed. "I keep sugar in every room. It's incredibly dangerous. Like anthrax."

"So," she continued, "djoo go recommend me hotel. With gym, no soogar, no fatty, no salt, no drinky Escottis peoples leadin' djoor poor papa stray! No minis bar, no esmokin', no estreakedy bacon every day, an' nowheres near djoor dangerous Escottis shortie he always talk about! Djoo know a good place, djes?"

"Absolutely; I know the perfect place. So....do you think he'd like an inside cell? Or one with a view?"

She slammed the phone down and I closed my eyes.

'Dangerous Scottish shortie', eh.

I'd no idea she'd met my mother.....