It was midday and Pete was sat in his bed killing Nazis on
his Playstation whilst munching a packet of cheesy nachos. His lips were orange,
and so were the bed covers from where he wiped his hands to not cover his
controller in cheese.
“Time you got out of bed now, Petey”, said his mum as she
walked in with a pile of fresh, clean clothes. “Come on, put this shirt on.
Have to look smart for the lawyer’s today.”
“Do I have to go?” moaned Pete. “It’s only Grandad’s Will
reading; it’s not as if he’s going to give me anything. He never liked me.”
