Far from tree-mendous

No, you’re not looking at a tree that’s somehow grown hands. Those hands are mine. What was I doing behind the tree in question? Listen up - I’ll tell you the whole sad story.

After my three most recent blog entries, my sister Nadine pounded her fists on my bedroom door.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’ she screamed through the wood of the door.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I protested back through the very same door.

Nadine was having none of it. She stormed into my room and snarled: ‘Were you so stupid as to think I wouldn’t see those insults you wrote about me in that pathetic blog of yours with the rubbish photos?’

Evidently, I had thought she wouldn’t see them. But equally as evidently, she’d found me out. Seems you can’t get away with anything on the internet these days.

It soon became clear that Nadine wasn’t alone. The angry grunts behind her came from those band mates of hers in Dental Treatment.

‘Sonny Jim, you’re coming with us,’ growled the drummer. In normal circumstances I would have corrected him and protested that my name was Ben. But something about his features told me that this wouldn’t have gone down well.

Against my will, I was escorted (dragged kicking and screaming more like) to the park down the road. As punishment for my slander, they tied me to a tree and abandoned me there, but not before snapping this photo of me.

Crying out for help only brought sniggers or looks of embarrassment from hurrying passers-by. Eventually my pleas were heard by a good Samaritan in the form of Myrtle from the year below me at school. She loosened my bonds on the condition that I present her with a variety pack of Monster Munch the next time I bump into her. It would be worth every penny.

On my return, there was a yellow sticky note plonked on the screen of my laptop. Big bold handwriting demanded: ‘There’s a picture in your inbox – bung it on your blog or we’ll tie you up in town.’

Well, that’s my sorry story and here’s the promised picture. I hope you’re happy, Nadine.

PS. In true ‘Da Vinci Code’ style, there might just be a hidden message in this blog.

PPS. The first letter of each paragraph. That’s all I’m saying.