Tag Archives: twins

The Blood Bath, Parts I & II

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It wasn’t just swearing that sparked mum’s lightening aggression. Thankfully I was a spectator to her ferocious reaction to one of the funniest and bizarre series of events to occur in our family home.

It was around the time of the Fox on the Run debacle. It was a Saturday afternoon and Dad was working overtime. My sisters were having a bath together and quietly splashing away. I was in the lounge room, mum was doing some housework and Anton went to the toilet. The toilet was next to the bathroom with the bath against the plaster wall that separated the two.

All was quiet until Anton, while sitting on the loo decided to hum Tchaikovsky. Why a teenage boy would be running through the 1812 Overture on the shitter is beyond me. But that’s exactly what he was doing. Without the benefit of The London Symphony Orchestra and Band of the Welsh Guards for effect, he decided to bang on the walls when it came to the big finale – da da da da dada dah dah daaah BOOM BOOM!

All hell broke loose. I remember hearing two loud thuds, followed by the splash of bath water and two little wet, naked and terrified girls running and screaming through the house in the mistaken belief that we had been bombed by the boogie monster.

It was about to get better.

In a matter of seconds mum had shaken out of her confused state to assess the situation and attack the source of the mayhem. This is where I wish I grew up in an age of mobile phones with cameras. Mum demonstrated in the most awesome possible way that even the toilet was no sanctuary from her fury. Above the sound of screaming twin girls you could hear the toilet door being kicked in, the shrill from my brother who had no idea about the pandemonium for which he was copping a hiding, my cursing mother and the loud snap of a toilet seat breaking.

It gets even better!

The Blood Bath, Part II

A few weeks after Anton’s bruises healed and my parents replaced the broken toilet seat, an incredible sense of déjà vu struck our household. It was a Saturday afternoon, dad was at work, the girls were in the bath, I was in the lounge, mum was doing housework and Anton was on the toilet. Once again I heard the splash of bath water and two little wet, naked and terrified girls running and screaming through the house. Mum needed no time to assess the situation and immediately went on the attack; once more kicking down the toilet door and accosting my poor, confused brother. Again there was a snapping noise, but this time it was the wooden spoon mum used to hit him breaking in half.

Everything was almost exactly like the first incident, except there was no BOOM BOOM.

Mum fucked up big time. It wasn’t my brother banging on the wall that sent the girls screaming from the bathroom at all. One of them poured a whole bottle of Dettol into the bath causing a burning sensation that caused their distress.

An empty Dettol bottle and milky grey bath water would prove Anton’s innocence, but by then it was too late.

On Mum’s Secret Service

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One of the coolest things I made was an FM bug.

When I was about 15, I found a new hobby making things with electronic kits that required soldering components like resistors and transistors onto printed circuit boards. One of the coolest things I made was an FM bug. This crude spy device had a little microphone which can be picked up from another room using a radio tuned to around 83 on the FM dial. One day after school I hid it in my sisters’ room and sat at the kitchen table listening to them talking on my ghetto blaster.

Mum asked what I was listening to and I told her it was Michelle and Charlene. Intrigued, she sat down only to hear Charlene swearing in Maltese. In a flash she was gone. One second my mother was with me, the next I could hear her dishing out carnage through my radio.

Remember that movie Who Dares Wins about the British SAS attack on the Iranian Embassy siege in London? What happened to my sisters reminds of the scene where the terrorists are chatting away totally oblivious to the fact that commandos were about to burst through a wall and shoot them through the head. My sisters could not have been prepared for mum to come bursting through the door to hand out the bollocking they copped.

For my efforts I copped a smack across the back of the head for spying on my sisters – even the SAS thank their intelligence people.