Dear Octopus,
When we were children, my younger brother Inky Squid developed an appallingly hooliganistic penchant for writing on the walls. Admittedly he was only five; and his crime stemmed more from experimentation with crayons (and presumably a lack of suitable paper) than it did the senseless desire to deface public property under the guise of 'art', as currently propagated by the junior members of the future working classes. A dark time in our Devonshire abode, maybe, but now it makes for a good Sunday-night yarn which I hope you might enjoy.
Around this time (and forever since) our father Captain Squid had very specific guidelines on what he (and the police) might consider criminal infractions. To illustrate his policy on household lawlessness he would often quote his favourite phrase from his time in the navy. As follows: 'one mistake is an accident, two times is happenstance, and three times is enemy action.' In short, you're allowed to make a mistake twice. Just. But make it a third time, and your ass is on its way to the chokey.
Inky Squid ought to have known better.
Nevertheless, he's found something. And as childhood is all about pushing boundaries in order to find them, he finds a crayon and writes on the wall. His mother tells him he cannot do it. It is naughty. Walls are not to be written on, after all. Very few vertical structures are. He is told, in no uncertain or subjectively vague terms, not to to do it again. THE ACCIDENT.
The second time he writes on a wall, his mother is angry. She has reasoned with him before, she's told him why he mustn't do it. She isn't in the habit of repeating herself, nor should she have to. Little boys must listen to their mothers; a fact of science, a law of nature and rule of thumb. So this time there is a real and credible threat to household security. A counter-strike is required. She kneels in front of him. 'If you write on the walls again,' she says, 'you'll be smacked, and you'll have no tea, and you'll be sent to bed.'
Smacked.
No tea.
Bed.
The triumvirate, the holy trinity of unwanted punishments. This shit just got real. This is...THE HAPPENSTANCE.
A noticeable air of calm descends upon the house. Life awaits an outcome which never arrives. The bomb fails to detonate. Maybe he has learned. We, his two older brothers, look on in mystified awe. Maybe he has ascended to a higher plain of spiritual enlightenment. What then? Nothing? No final showdown? No fireworks? Apparently not. Life returns to normal. The three of us wait for Captain Squid to come home from work so we can ambush him in militaristic horseplay. And then, one day, mother notices that he does not come when he is called to his tea. Impatiently, she marches out into the hall. There he is; a small boy, hunched at the wall like a prisoner trying to discreetly chisel through it, red crayon in hand. Red-handed, so to speak.
Two words:
ENEMY
ACTION
'Right!' she barks in a Basil Fawlty-esque way that even now is so marvellous, grabs him by the top of the arm, marches him to the foot of the stairs, and proceeds to literally propel him up the aforementioned stairs by the sheer and repeated force of a heartily smacked bottom. Party Squid and I watch in silent, grim acknowledgement. We pass each other a glance which seems to say, 'this is what happens. Smacked, no tea, sent to bed. The holy trinity. The only way to subvert enemy action. Regular...as....clockwork.'
Mother slams the bedroom door, fuming. Inky Squid can be heard whimpering in his room. She storms downstairs, furious, and as she passes the spot where he was committing this last and most unutterably heinous of domestic offences, stops suddenly. We all look.
For there, on the wall, written in red crayon:
'I love my mummy.'
I suppose the moral of this story is that even if your intentions are good, you shouldn't break the law. Particularly when you're the youngest of three boys living by a strict naval disciplinary code. It is of little consequence now, I would suggest. Inky Squid turned out to be a fine man. I am proud to call him my brother.
Your loving friend,
Action Squid
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