Newspaper article Tweed Daily News (Tweed Heads, Australia)

Channeling the Family for a Credit Boost; at Last Report the Television Was Sitting at the Foot of My Stepson's Bed and So Dominates the Room That He Calls It the {Lsquo}drive-In'. He Is Surviving on Takeaway Pizza and Handouts from Strangers

Newspaper article Tweed Daily News (Tweed Heads, Australia)

Channeling the Family for a Credit Boost; at Last Report the Television Was Sitting at the Foot of My Stepson's Bed and So Dominates the Room That He Calls It the {Lsquo}drive-In'. He Is Surviving on Takeaway Pizza and Handouts from Strangers

Article excerpt

Byline: TUESDAY With Damian Bathersby

WE weren't planning on buying a wide-screen TV. Honestly, we don't even watch that much television.

But I guess we'll have to, now that we've got this bloody big thing sitting in the corner of the lounge room. It sort of squats there like a gargoyle - wings tucked behind it - watching us.

I feel guilty if it's not turned on whenever we're at home.

I'm not even sure how it happened. We were out in the car when my wife saw one of those signs for 45,000 days interest free, or something like that.

"I wonder how much one of those new-fangled wide-screen TVs would cost?" she said.

"I don't know," I replied. "It can't hurt to look."

It can't hurt to look?! What the hell was I thinking?

Before you can say "here'smy creditcardspendasmuchasyoulike" we'd done a U-turn and were heading back towards the shop.

Actually, that's not entirely true.

We took a small detour first because my wife decided that her 20-something-year-old son should probably have a wide-screen TV as well, so we went around to his place and bashed on the door until he dragged himself out of bed.

It wasn't our fault that he'd worked the night shift, so his body clock thought it was only four o'clock in the morning.

"But I don't want a big TV," he whined.

"Of course you don't darling," agreed my wife. "But come for a drivey-wivey with mummy and she'll buy you an ice-cream."

"Oh boy, oh boy. Mummy's going to buy me an ice-cream," he said as he skipped to the car, his unblemished credit rating bounding along behind him.

Actually, it didn't happen like that at all. Except for the part about his credit rating.

What really happened was that we woke him up, said "come to the pub for lunch" and he was in the car faster than you could say "would you like a steak sandwich with that beer? …

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