Billy Elliot

He’s an idiot, my brother, I hate him. He’s got good taste in music, though. He always listens to it on his headphones when I’m around so’s I can’t hear it. Like he owns the air or something. He’d wrap the music up and stick it up his arse if he could.
I don’t get much time on my own lately except first thing in the morning before school when me dad and Tony are out
on the picket line. It was better when they were working. I could get back from school and I’d have hours to listen to anything I wanted. Nan likes the music too. Dad thinks it’s modern rubbish, but she’s too old to care about that sort of thing. She never tells on me. She probably can’t remember long enough to know what we were doing, anyhow. As soon as Dad and Tony are out the house, I put the music on while I
do breakfast. She can’t keep her feet still. I can hear her singing along while she’s still in bed. Sometimes she gets up and we jiggle around the room together. She does these poses with her arms in the air, trying to balance on one leg and spin round like a ballet dancer – except she’s getting on for eighty and can’t walk all that well these days, let alone dance.