Troublemaker

It’s hard being one of those people who just attracts trouble. It might sound sort of glamorous, but it isn’t. It doesn’t matter what I do—or what I try to do—I end up getting in to quite a lot of trouble. My mother used to say it was my face. I think she resented having to say this because her and I were like a carbon copy of one another (the only difference being that towards the end of her life she had more hair coming from her nose than me: it was almost a ‘nose beard’. Strange considering she suffered from Female hair loss on top), so when she told me off she inadvertently told herself off. And it can’t be much fun having to look at a copy of yourself that doesn’t have a nose beard and tell yourself off, can it? No, it must have been very tricky. I can see why she was never in a good mood.

Mum used to say “You could get in to trouble in a padded room tied up!” To test this theory out, the week after my fourteenth birthday she tried this out. Sure enough, after ten minutes of being locked securely inside a room, while tied to a chair, trouble started to show its pesky face. It was a mouse that had appeared from nowhere, you see, and its constant scurrying over a load of matches lying on the ground had sparked a small flame. Mum had to rescue me from the blazing inferno, hence after that I joined the circus. You’d be surprised how much people pay to see someone get themselves in to trouble.