Uncle Hugh's got a new flying car!

Uncle Hugh has got a new flying car. Actually, this one is more like a flying van 'cause it's bigger than his other one and it’s got two engines. Mum isn’t very pleased she said “Hugh Bastard, why should I bother cutting back on things like my buttocks if all you do is buy another bloody plaything…? I thought money was supposed to be tight!”

This buttocks thing she was going on about used to stop her from frowning. Apparently, before the credit munch when she was having a mid-life crisis she used to go to a man in the UK every three months and he’d inject this buttocks stuff into her face and she’d pay him lots of plastic to do it (and they think us dogs are thick)! Once I overheard Uncle Hugh saying that this buttocks thing was a deadly virus and after that it used to worry me that my mum was having her face injected with it and paying someone for the privilege. I think she must have been a bit nutty at the time. Now I’m worried that she’ll go and do it again ‘cause she’s really angry with Uncle Hugh and she’s frowning even more. Why do women inject their faces with deadly virus? Why can’t they simply stop frowning?

Anyway, I’m digressing. This flying van that Uncle Hugh’s got is really big and noisy and he wants to take mum and me in it to a place called Morocco but she said “…over my dead body…”. Now that confused me at first. I thought she meant that she wants to die, which I thought was a tad strange, but as the conversation carried on I realised that mum doesn’t like flying much. In fact, she’s scared of it. I wonder why? I mean, she’s quite happy to drive in a car travelling along a road at lots of miles per hour, with lots of other cars and big scary trucks all travelling REALLY fast, and sometimes the cars and trucks coming in the opposite direction miss you by a few inches, and sometimes other cars drive right up close and sometimes cars do things that make mum swear lots and I know that it takes just one little mistake to trash a car to bits – 'cause I’ve seen it. When I’m sat in mum’s car, I can’t help but think I’m only ever inches from doggy heaven. So, whilst I know that I’m only a dog and therefore not supposed to know anything, I still reckon that it’s much MUCH safer to go in a flying car in the sky where there’s lots and lots of space and not many other flying cars, than it is to go on a very busy road with all those fragile metal boxes zooming around at breakneck speed.

Give me a flying car any day!