1/1/96 - VISITING DADDY
The staff and inmates had a New Year's Eve party last night, but I had to stay in my dad's secure wing to make sure he didn't get out of the giant fibreglass moth's face they've chained him inside.
It wasn't much fun for him, so at midnight I started shouting and banging my fists against the side. It was supposed to be funny, but he just started screaming and wouldn't stop until I threw in a load of moss.
2/1/96 - VISITING DADDY
I think my dad's getting better. Today when I asked him who he thought I was, he said "Mr Bronson". This may sound bad, but yesterday he thought I was a wyvern, and the day before he thought I was a volcano!
Also, today was the first day in months when he hasn't written a poem about a lion and sent it off to Erasure. The doctors say he's now well enough to be strapped to a giant fibreglass Chewit.
3/1/96 - VISITING DADDY
They let my dad out of hospital last night.
I'm not sure if he's ready yet: as soon as we got to my nan's he started curtseying. He only stopped when he got distracted by an ad on the telly for animal biscuits. Waving his fist at the screen, he started hissing and wriggled about on the floor like a snail.
Eventually he passed out from exhaustion, so we poured Pimms over his shirt and told visitors he was a drunk.