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Last Monday evening, as I was just getting the supper ready around sixish, an estate agent; who is only a vague acquaintance popped his round the door to beg a favour.  He had with him a very statuesque and not unattractive Russian woman, who evidently wanted to look around our house? No sooner had we said "yes", that a very large blonde boy of seven was hustled through the door in front of her, and introduced to us as her son.

Her child, whose name we will keep safe for the time being, to spare him of any possible future embarrassment was built like a large cube; clad in a blue Crimplene top and matching, and may I say, very short, high waisted polyester pants. Now I like most children, but he was not at all loveable on sight; and let me tell you that as the visit wore on I can categorically say that this child had absolutely no endearing qualities whatsoever.

He was indeed the child from hell; he stomped round our home running up and down the stairs, squealing at the top of his deep voice; with his arms outstretched like an aeroplane; dragging his filthy little hands along my white walls. He bounced on and off my white leather sofa whilst grabbing the remote from its charging cradle; which controls all the electronics of the TV and projector. As I tried in vain to nonchalantly wrench it out of his podgy fist, he continued to jab at every conservable button until the image disappeared on the plasma screen and announced "no connection found". Needless to say Chris was not impressed, and spent the next ten minutes rectifying the little monsters antics.   He then sat in awe of the cinema screen as it descended from the ceiling, before racing to far wall to have a go at pressing these controls as well.

His mother showed little interest in the house, and none at all in her revolting son. As she moved with said agent and Chris out into the back garden, I felt compelled to shadow the little rug rat as it moved quickly into Chris's office; where he immediately attacked his Apple Mac. It sprung into life at the touch of his hot little hand, his desk top rose to the fore but before he could press any more buttons I quickly manoeuvred him back into the lounge where he jumped up and ran around the indoor reflecting pool like a monkey, his hands pinned to the ceiling.

It was time for him to be outside I thought guiding him to an open door and shutting it tight behind him. Where upon he quickly set about terrifying "Baby Kat", shaking him like an apple out my still stacked, and fragile Frangipani tree; where he had been hiding since the boys arrival; then kicking him once he was down. Animals seem to have six sense about people, and especially small boys dressed in blue.

He continued to run around the garden until he was quite puce in the face; and managed to avoid or fall foul of any of our precarious not child friendly drops, which could prove to be a hazard to anyone in the dark.  No one was more pleased than I, when I able to wave the little ...astard and his mother goodbye. As they descended the steps in the dusk of the evening he could be seen scratching viciously at his mosquito bites; arh.......there is karma after all.