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Mum's poorly. Don't feel bad; it's her own fault. She's decided to become one of them amcobolicks. 

At first I thought she was just on some marathon baby talk bender. Sprouting babyish gobbeldy-gook for AGES. Turns out she was just on a bender. She thought she was talking sense, and to be fair she spoke more than usual; it was the slurring that gave her away. That and the traffic cone on her head.

I actually quite like her drunk. I feel closer to her. She's more patient, she's less judgemental, she laughs all the time and she can't criticise my dribbling. It improves her singing and she's been sick today way more than I have. And, if Dad's face was anything to go by when he used our loo after her, she's made more of mess of her nappy than I have. Score.

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