RAVONSKI

I’ve got a friend. His name is Bernard because he told me. He’s made out of ear wax. He told me that too. Right in my ear.

Bernard talks to me about cricket. He says it’s not the same since they started kicking a head into a net instead of stick-hitting an apple about. He says its a thug’s game now. All knifes and swears and too-bright socks. He liked the apple version best.

Bernard talks to me about weather. This is when he knows I’m not listening about the knifes. He’s good at it because he makes me feel like it’s ‘my’ weather. He knows when it’s hot because he starts to melt a bit and needs a new hair style. Then he tells me. He knows when it’s cold because he can’t change his hairstyle. Then he tells me.

Bernard’s hairstyles are famous. He says all the other waxes want his hairs and I say “actually they’re my hairs” and says they’re not because he has ‘stoled’ them for himself. Fair point I say, but I really want to say “no that’s naughty” but I don’t.

Bernard says he reads all of my diaries so I’m going to stop writing now.

I’m not allowed to use a hairdryer because that would kill Bernard.