KEVIN & SHARON  GREEN

69, Calcutta Cuttings, Clapton, LONDON E5.                                                                                                     

OUR CHRISTMAS NEWSLETTER : 1995.              

This is what the Green family’s been up to over the past year.  Please understand that we are not remotely interested in what is happening in your lives, because we really only have the time and inclination to focus on ourselves.

1995 was an eventful year. You will already have read in the press about our eldest son, Turps, who is recuperating in hospital after a shoot-out with the Spanish police in a ladies’ lavatory in Algeciras.  When he was cornered, he was found to be in possession of an automatic pistol, a sharp instrument and an Algerian schoolgirl. (You can never tell with these bloody foreigners can you?) Once he recovers, we’re encouraging him to seek treatment.

Our second son, Tattoo Jimmy, comes out early next year and has now spent three stretches, totalling seven years, behind bars since his eighteenth birthday (he’ll be 28 in January). On reflection, the choice of a crossbow as an eighteenth birthday present was a little premature.  But we love him and of course we’re proud of him.

We are happy to report that Vicky has not touched a drop since May, and that Rambo has decided to take no further action against her for damages.  He has bought a P-registered Hillman Hunter and the wall of the pub has been substantially rebuilt. Vicky now sings with a punk band in Margate.

Which brings us to Bomber! You would hardly recognise the snot-nosed little bugger, who used to run along Moor Terrace, kicking an empty Coca-Cola tin, if you could see him today. Bomber is six foot three and over fifteen stone, so we can’t imagine what the bloke looked like, who did this to him. But, of course, drugs are a very dirty business.

And finally, Ginge. She’s a proud mum again (not bad going for a sixteen-year old!)  This time the father is probably a West Indian ticket collector named Hatch. She says the baby’s going to be a Millwall supporter. They’re calling her Millie!

With all that out of the way that brings us to us!  We’ve had new lino put in the hall and I’ve whitewashed the toilet next to the kitchen in summer. Poor Aunt Eunice died of TB in February and they are already saying that Uncle Alf has some foreign lady-friend who goes to the dogs with him. We all had a holiday in Ampthill in July and a long week-end at Dartford in May. Ben’s got a job as a part-time potato peeler in Spalding.

At this time of year, of course, all our minds are on the good things in life so we are stocking up with extra booze, toilet paper, Alka-Seltzer and carpet shampoo.