I was unpleasantly woken this morning by my despicable Aunt Petunia (a witch-like woman) shrieking my name. Following that, when I managed to get out of bed Dudley (a bloated bully) stomped and stomped on the stairs until layers of dust came down, shrouding my diminutive room.
When I manages to climb out of my humble abode, Uncle Vernon ordered me to make a full English breakfast for them all – all I get is a piece of burnt crust.
Next my long list of chores begins: cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning; polishing; mowing the lawn; hoovering the whole house and finally dusting the house from top to bottom. This is what it’s like – everyday.
Uncle Vernon, an over-sized lump, treats me like a prisoner – I may as well be in a prison cell. Dudley is no better, in fact he’s worse. All he has ever done to me is make me absolutely mad!
As they are ashamed of me, they hide me in my poky, cramped cupboard when visitors come. How am I related to them? What have I ever done to them? I’ve always known that I was different; I lie here dreaming of a better life.