Nightmare on Main Street

The first time I met my neighbours' illicit two year old (she had broken the rules by having him on a child-free development) I looked under the cascade of golden curls expecting to see an angel. What I saw were the glinting malevolent eyes of a devil incarnate. I shuddered. Jakey (Wakey) was no ordinary toddler.

And so it proved. His otherwise pleasant-enough mother was soon to be heard loudly boasting that she had taken him out of his first nursery as it was 'too structured' and she didn't feel it appropriate he should be made to say 'please', 'thank you' and 'sorry', or wait for lunch if he was hungry at his age. As for the activities, it was quite unreasonable that he wasn't allowed to delve into the poster paint without putting the play dough away first. Toddlers weren't meant to be tidy. No, his new nursery was much better. He could just get stuck into whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and do his own thing and they simply changed them into nice clean clothes before the parents arrived.

Soon Jakey (Wakey) was running amok in his (far-more-expensive-than-mine) designer togs on the formerly-quiet estate, tearing up and down the main avenue on his toy tractor delivering his interpretation of tractor exhaust noises at the top of his voice, accompanied by his equally vocal friend on a bicycle, pretending to be a motorbike. At the Residents' Summer Fete, his mummy actively encouraged her little darling to help himself to as many free go's as he liked once his £1 had run out on the lucky dip or the hoopla, in full view of all the visiting children, and then demand to swap his prizes for better ones.

Another delightful pastime of Jakey (Wakeys') entails running around shouting rude things through letter boxes when he should be in bed. Noisy pirate parties take place in his parents' back garden on a weekly basis whether it's his birthday or not, his friends' parents' cars cluttering the narrow residential street so the rest of us find it hard to get in or out of our driveways. To cap it all his parents have decided they need an exceptionally noisy mini bus in which to cart their little prince and his retinue around. Exceptionally noisy as it is almost too large for their driveway and takes at least ten minutes of manoeuvring every time they go in or out, an activity they most enjoy performing at 7am on a weekend, just in case anyone fancies a lie-in.

Although still only 4, Jakey (Wakey) shows every promise of maturing into a fine young thug. Advanced for his age no less. I often wonder what sort of monster his mother-who-doesn't-agree-with-rules thinks she is breeding. Will future partners of her son (straight, gay or don't know) thank her for raising an utterly selfish sociopath with a Royal superiority complex who treats them like a doormat and throws a hissy fit every time he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it? Will future employers thank her for such a self-serving exercise in expediency who would sell their industrial secrets to the first rival who asked, as soon as accept their shilling?

Well that's got that off my chest, dear blog!

I have put out the extra large slug pellets. You never know.

**Note the name of this child has been changed to protect - me!**