A FAMILLY IN TURMOIL

I’ve tried! God knows I’ve tried. But just when you think things can’t get any worse – they do, with a vengeance.

Guess who landed on my doorstep yesterday? Sydney, my stepson. George’s son by his first wife.

I hardly recognised him. And not just because he had shaved his beard off: no, it was the white stilettos, miniskirt and red top (not his colour at all) – plus the blond wig.

I have always known was a cross-dresser - he used to steal items of my wardrobe when he was 14 years old, but it was just the odd bra, a pair of panties, that sort of thing - but to be suddenly faced with this apparition­ – this affront to femininity, this togged-up transvestite disgracing my portal… well, I almost fainted.

‘You’re looking a bit pale, mummy’ leered this juvenile pantomime dame.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I enquired, politely.

Well, it seems he had had a blazing row with thingy, his partner the drama student. He said it was over Bertolt Brecht. I thought at first she was having an affair with one of those Polish illegal immigrants that somehow find their way into our institutions of learning. But no – this Bertolt is some kind of playwright. And they almost came to blows during a heated discussion concerning the sub-plot of ‘MUTTER COURAGE UND IHRE KINDER’ which is apparently some ancient black and white film this geezer made.

Anyway, she threw him out and that’s how he landed on my doorstep. Said he’d nowhere else to go.

‘Well you can just bugger off, you painted hussy’ I advised him.

He said he was entitled to live here, as this was the family home – even though his dear old dad was no longer in residence.

When I told him that ‘Wynorin’ was now the headquarters of a militant feminist pressure group – you won’t believe this – he said he wanted to join!! Well, as you can imagine, I was appalled, but since the Sisters constitution requires that ALL applications for membership be considered at full committee level, I had no choice but to convene a meeting and put Sydney’s application before the group. To my surprise, the vote was three to one in favour. My stepson is now a full member of ‘Sisters Under The Duvet’ and from henceforth wishes to be known as Cyd (as a boy he had a crush on the American film star Cyd Charise).

Oh and Cyd – cheeky sod - has asked that he/she be allowed to introduce himself/herself on the blog, so you may expect to hear from our new member shortly.

I blame his father for Sydney’s sexual ambiguity. George did not know who he was half the time – talk about ‘Jekyll and Hyde’. And the other person I blame – and I am sorry to say this of one of our Sisters – is Anna: I am afraid we left him in her hands on two many occasions when she was our so-called ‘au pair’. Swedish massage may be very invigorating but I think that one needs to be careful not to overdo things, with a growing (and impressionable) youth.

Still that cannot be helped now. I have more to think about, what with the threats from that awful Myra person and her sink-estate sidekick. I have already had to restrain Greta: I caught her oiling her Luger and muttering something about the ‘Night of the Long Knives.’

Honestly, I sometimes wish I had done as mother advised, and entered a convent.