I don't know about anyone else, but when I've got a girlfriend on and I go to her parents' house, I always make sure I'm looking presentable and minding my P's and Q's. And maybe even bring over some Ferraro Rocher from the garage, if I really fancy her. What I don't do is turn up off my mash on Magic Monkey Juice and Space Drugs, threaten to kill everyone inside if they call the 'Feds', and then fall down the stairs and out the door after a failed attempt to grab her Mam's handbag. Particularly when it turns out that I've got the wrong house entirely.
Thanks to that particular incident and other assorted episodes of random cuntishness, that lad up there now has four years in the Naughty House, by which time he might be able to grow a proper moustache. And if the aforementioned 'Kelly' is reading this, and that contemptible bit of scrag really was the only bloke on offer, I advise her to run to the Foresters as quickly as she could say 'Fair go, Bea, you're Top Dog in Wentworth now'.