One of my Newcastle Unlces passes me the gravy.
“And how is, er…” he says. “The fella. I will remember, hold on,”
I open my mouth to say “Mike.”
“George,” my Dad says.
“Ah, George,” Newcastle Uncle says.
“He’s fine,” my Dad says as I open my mouth again. “Got on a graduate engineering scheme.”
“Jolly good,” he says. “And will you see him for Christmas?”
“No, I say. And by the way it’s-”
“Speaking of Christmas, what’re you cooking for everyone?” Newcastle Uncle says, turning to my sister.
The conversation moves on. They all think I’m dating a George.
“I am putting you in a HOME” I hiss at my Dad across the table.