Dear teacher,

This note is to let you know that Dwayne Azzopardi-Bastido (Form 5C) will not be coming to school today, ’cos he’s sick... innit.

I am well aware that this note should really be accompanied by a doctor’s ‘susstifocate’, certifying that Dwayne is... certifiably... sick. So this is intended to act as a sort of self-susstifocate, to inform you – and that fat pig of a head – precisely why there ain’t no doc’s... sick note accompanying this... er note.

Anyway, when he woke up this morning I kinda noticed that Dwayne – poor little bleeder – didn’t look so good.

And no, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that last night my boyfriend (Dwayne’s stand-in daddy... for the moment... sort of... ) got a bit plastered down the kaz (dot) in, then came home late and gave Dwayne what for with his snooker cue.

My son is more than used to one or other of my fellers whopping him about a bit after they’ve downed six or seven pints of lager and 18 whisky chasers.

The boy is more than capable of looking after himself. Indeed, there have been occasions when he has – on my request – been obliged to sort out one or more of his somewhat abusive ‘uncles’... sober or bladdered. So no, that wasn’t it.

Anyway, fact is, I think Dwayne’s caught a cold or maybe flu... and there is no way I am going to ask that bandit of a doctor to come over here and charge me an arm and a leg just to issue a piece of paper saying so. No, stuff that, does he think I’m made of money?

Besides I’m saving up for a faux diamond choker from the Shopping Channel.

And I don’t see why I should go to the expense of paying for a medical certificate, when all the poor little lad’s got is a snuffle or two. At worst he’s coming down with flu... and not the bird one either or, Gawd forbid, Ebola.

I don’t see why I should go to the expense of paying for a medical certificate, when all the poor little lad’s got is a snuffle or two

The best case scenario is a mild head cold. So he should be back to serve the rest of his sentence in your poxy academy next week or latest the week after.

Anyway, my son Dwayne is poorly, so he definitely won’t be coming to school today.

And before you ask, no it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t done his English homework. I don’t know why he has to learn English anyway, the boy is Maltese and he speaks that well enough.

And again, his absence has got nothing at all to do with him being ordered to serve two hours detention today for kicking Bradley Borg Beck (Form Four) in the playground yesterday lunchtime. He’s a cocky little swine, that Bradley anyway and – from what Dwayne tells me – he’s had it coming for a long time.

And anyway, besides all that... I want him home to answer the phone and be on hand when a client calls, ’cos I gotta go out to the hairdresser to get me roots done. At the moment I look like a bleeding badger.

And anyway... I don’t know why the boy is still at school aged 13. Good grief! I was working full-time at that age... and it didn’t do me no harm. The only reason I haven’t pulled my son out of school already is ’cos I’d have the law on my tail... and I’ve had enough trouble with that lot already, thank you very much.

Anyway... I’m his mother, right? So I think I should be the one to know if my son is well enough to go to school, without involving some jumped-up twat with a stethoscope, who is only interested in swindling us poor working-class single mothers for every penny or euro we got.

So, no, my son Dwayne will not be attending school today, on account of the fact that he’s sick... OK! And if you dare to send anyone round here to check if what I say is true, you’d better make sure they are prepared for a damn good hiding.

Love and kisses,

Darlene Azzopardi Mohammed