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The kid, the floozie and daddyhood

There's a very interesting legal case going on in Australia at the moment where a guy is suing his ex-wife for payments he made for a nipper he raised as his own, despite the fact she allegedly knew it was someone else's child.

Obviously we can't go into the details of it, but here's a little something that happened to me ...

Now I may look old and scrawny, but I haven't always been so and in my day - about 1930 or so - I was a well liked bit of a lad.

Of course wine and women got the better of me and one day I found myself caught up in a custody battle. Being a chap of honour I paid my dues, helped look after the young one - changing nappies and the like - and when the good woman and I separated I continued to pay my way and be the Dad.

However, I did get a little suspicious during the last stages of our wedded blitz when I discovered socks that weren't mine, awful-smelling aftershave lingering on our pillows and the fact that when I'd been out of the house at work all day I got home to find the loo seat up! That was the clincher.

Anyway, I confronted the jezebel and of course she denied everything.

Needless to say I left and despite the fact I gave her the house, car, and all the money in the bank - the feckless floozie then sued me for maintenance.

I asked for blood tests and when the results came through it proved that I could not have been the pater in the paternity.

I was shocked, stunned, stunned and shocked, and not a little bit miffed let me tell you. Here was my boy, who I'd loved without limit, the child of someone else.

It wasn't his fault - so that didn't change anything - but I'd be stuffed if I would pay for a woman who'd made me a cuckold.

Off to court we went and despite copping mouthfuls of abuse from the found-out harridan I knew I had a good case. "Pay me the money back, you tart," I quipped, only to be brought back into line by a whack from the judge's gavel.

"Quieten down you," he said, "or I'll double your payments."

Now things were not looking good for me - despite the fact I had moral right on my side - as I think the Old Beak had taken a bit of a shine to the ex-strumpet.

"If you want to continue to be a father figure you have to pay her," he intoned.

"Hang on a sec," said I, "this is not right. She lied to me, cheated on me, and then had the cheek to get me to pay for it all. Now, my lud, I would have thought that a fraud."

Well, you could have heard a pin drop. The Old Beak looked like he was going to explode and then smiled.

"You are right Mr Coot, it was deceitful on her part and borders on monetary fraud. I order her to repay you her ill-gotten gains. And you get custody."

"Hooray," I shouted and grabbed the little-un, hoisted him on to my back and we ran off to open a bank account where we could stash all his loot-to-be.

A little later, as we were pogging into triple choccy sundaes, I notice the former floozie and the Old Beak hopping out of a taxi together. She was done up to the nines with peroxided hair shining like a beacon - and he looked like he could barely walk.

Needless to say his Christmas gift that year was a paternity suit!

If there is something that has really got up your nose, let Grumpy Old Coot know at grumpy@webwombat.com