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5.15am, we are not friends. 

Dear 5.15am

We are not friends. I don’t want to be your friend. Please will you leave me alone. We haven’t seen each other for a while, I was pleased to see the back of you in Autumn time and I was ever hopeful that you might have gone for good, but alas no. Like Paul, that wonky eyed man with a mullet I snogged in 1996, you keep following me around and I just don’t know what to do to get rid of you.

Me and 5.15 am have history, we were friends in my youth, drinking buddies really. I’m ashamed to admit that we had a few dalliances. It would seem like a good idea to hang out with you, but I’d always regret it in the morning. You’d leave me feeling sullied and soiled with my belongings strewn about the place and no real idea what had happened. I only really knew you after 2 bottles of wine. I thought you were alright, you knew where all the best kebab vans were and we even passed out together a few times watching old episodes of Saved by the Bell. But now I’ve met you sober, I’m starting to see you for what you really are and I don’t like the cut of your jib.

And now you’ve started on my children. Every day you’re there, bringing your tweeting mates round to hang out outside their windows, and your big fat yellow friend keeps trying to get in through their curtains. You’ve been whispering in their tender little ears, turning them against me. Because of you, their relationship with 5.15pm is ruined, they can’t stand each other. It’s not right, what did we ever do to you? I’ve spent months teaching my daughter that she can’t get out of bed till the sun on her clock comes up. Months. And in a few short weeks you’ve undone all of my hard work. Suddenly she thinks it’s acceptable to put on a breakdancing show for the teddies on the landing wearing only her vest and pants at 5.30am. We both know this is your doing.

I don’t need an apology, I don’t care why you’re doing it, just go and leave us alone. We are not friends, we will never be friends, now fuck off.

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4 Comments

    1. Awesome! Am laughing and drinking gin. Well it is nearly 5 to 5 on a Friday. Surely that means crackerjack?

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