If there's one thing I can't stand, it's beans. Cabbage I don't mind. Turnip I don't mind. Parsley, silver beet, potato . . . but beans really do something to me. I know some kids who love them. Positively rave over them, like they were chocolates. Crunch, crunch, crunch. But not me.
Mum says we should eat a little bit of everything. I don't know where she gets wisdom like that from! She probably makes it up because she has so many beans in the garden. The whole back fence is covered in them. She picks them by the bucket-load, boils them, and then she puts them into bags. Then they go into the freezer, so we have beans every night all winter.
When we aren't eating beans and vegetables, we're into chips and fizz and chocolate biscuits, and stale bread without butter or jam. Mum spends most of her food money on junk, or cigarettes, which is why she grows her own vegetables. So we can save money and have more chocolate biscuits.
Once I turned the freezer off so all the beans would be ruined. Mum found out before a day had passed. She really chewed my ear over it.
"You leave that switch alone!" she yelled. "Or I'll put you in the freezer!"
She wouldn't really do that. She's a good Mum. She loves me.
Anyway, let me tell you about my Dad.
Last week Dad came home looking worried as usual. He slumped down on the couch and shut his eyes. Then he rubbed his face with his hands. He did this quite often. It meant that he was out of money, hungry, and tired, and he wished he could win the Golden Lottery or something except he never bought a ticket because he couldn't afford it, but he still hoped he would win even though he never bought a ticket.
"I'm going to have to sell the car," he said.
"What?" said Mum.
"I'm selling the car."
"But you need it!" said Mum.
"I can always walk."
"Where to?" asked Mum. "You don't have a job."
"I've got to go to the pub on Fridays," said Dad. "I don't really need a car for that."