Golly

“LANCE!”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Who spilt this lemonade on the bedroom floor?”

“It was Golly, Mummy.”

“I had a funny feeling that you were going to say that, Lance.”

“Well it WAS Golly, Mummy.”

“Yes. It always IS Golly, isn’t it?”

Golly had been my best friend and constant companion ever since I left hospital, after being born, almost five years ago. He was about three times my size then, and must have shrunk a lot in that time, because he was now only slightly bigger than me. The great thing about Golly was that he had always happily taken the blame for anything that I’d done wrong. He had kept me out of serious trouble on countless occasions.

One Thursday, just before my fifth birthday, my Daddy came home from work in time for his tea. He frowned at me as I greeted him. “Where is Golly, Lance?”

“I threw him in the bin, Daddy.”

“Oh dear! But I thought he was your best friend. He’s ALWAYS with you.”

“Yes. But he was REALLY naughty today, Daddy.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“He kicked my football through the kitchen window!”

My Daddy just couldn’t be angry. All he could do was laugh.