Filth

I knew it was serious when she came home last night. She took off her jacket, went upstairs and came downstairs in waterproof trousers and a vest. This looks interesting, I thought. She picked me up in a kind of weird lift, carried me into the bathroom and locked the door.

Unspeakable acts were carried out in that bathroom. Most of it is a blur, but I remember big jugs. And scratching her neck. And of course how wet she got.

Not as wet as me of course. Eventually, she wrapped me up in a towel and we watched all the dirty water going down the plughole.

What a dirty boy, Marley, she said. Filthy, dirty boy.