Wednesday 2nd December 2009:
December already! Where the hell did November go? I don’t recall it permission to slope off into the annals of history. I hadn’t quite finished with it, there was stuff I wanted to do. Ah well, time marches on and takes us with it or leaves us behind awaiting burial. And yes, that pretty much sums up my current mood. I’m a miserable bastard at the moment.
I had a row with the boyfriends last weekend and I’m still feeling down and a bit resentful about it. I’ve been doing my job, adhering to the required courtesies but that’s about it. I’ve been using having a cold as an excuse for being quiet and for declining sexual overtures. To be honest I was pissed off because they didn’t seem to notice my ‘quietness’ or if they did they weren’t overly bothered, accepting my cold excuse with a bit too much alacrity. They’re both mad busy with work and with Christmas coming on they’ve got plenty of distractions with work functions etc. Anyway, before leaving for work this morning Shane gave me one of his meanest bear looks and growled a memo about some chat he has scheduled for us tonight when he gets home. I’m now a bit pissed off because he has apparently noticed my ‘quietness’ though knowing him he’ll re-label it as sulking. Contrary? Moi? Never!
I was supposed to go for a blood test this morning, but I just can’t be arsed. I’ll go tomorrow.
I reckon a cat has moved into our neighbourhood. I haven’t actually seen it, but I’ve found some dead birds and mice in the garden and they look pretty pulverised. Of course it might just be that our resident thug of a robin has upped his game and is running a multi species protection racket. The dead bodies I’ve found are most likely victims who refused to pay up. I can just see him patrolling his patch wearing a zoot suit and a gangster hat with a little machine gun tucked under his wing. That would be a cool image for a Christmas card.
The gardens are a mess at the moment. We had some heavy rains and wind last week and it’s taken its toll. It’s not bad today weather wise so I’ll have a good tidy round. It’ll take my mind of impending bear talks.
Tuesday 8th December 2009:
Shane is a bit like a bear with a sore head at the moment, mainly because he is a bear with a sore head, or rather a bear with a sore mouth. He had a soft tissue biopsy yesterday. A small fibrous lump was removed from inside his mouth (it was embedded in his right cheek) the dentist noticed it when he had his last check up and insisted on referring him to the hospital. The consultant said he didn’t think it was sinister, but he still thought it best to remove it and send it for tests.
So off he went yesterday, refusing all offers from Dick and I to accompany him and hold his hand. He went back to work after the procedure was done even though he had four stitches in his mouth. His work staff had the best of it because the local anaesthetic did its job and kept his face numb for a good few hours after the procedure. By the time he got home it had worn off and he was beginning to feel discomfort. He couldn’t eat anything, he could barely drink anything, and even speaking made him wince. He was a very grumpy boyfriend, especially when we dined on succulent rump steak and he sipped clear soup.
His sense of humour had obviously been removed along with the lump because he wasn’t amused when Dick quipped that at least the lump had been inside his facial cheeks and not his arse cheeks, so at least he could sit down and take the weight of his feet. Richard was pithily told to keep his facile comments to himself and Gillibran
was told to wipe the inane smirk off his face.
I hope the consultant is right and the lump isn’t anything sinister. I’ll be worrying until he gets the test results. He can be a hard taskmaster, but I loves him all to bits I does.
Bear talks last Wednesday weren’t as bad as expected. There was some growling done, but mauling was minimal. I thought my bum was doomed when he put me over his knee in order to discuss the correct attitude for a houseboy, but it was more symbolic than punitive. Slaps were mock and delivered only as a means of underlining specific points. We went over the events of the previous weekend and I acknowledged that I had no right to be resentful about the duties expected of me and I certainly had no right to be rude to him and Dick.
Basically I’d had a work-loaded weekend. We had guests, a couple of business contacts of Shane’s that were in the area. They stayed Friday and Saturday night. Then on Sunday the men folk went off on a shooting trip with Leo. It was a small private party with limited guns and so there was no invite for me. I was left at home all alone with only the kitchen sink and cooker for company as they expected a hot meal when they got back.
It was filthy weather and they came home with mud caked shooting jackets, trousers and wellies, all of which I would have to clean. I blew a gasket when Shane told me to help clean the kills they’d made. I told him that they’d shot the poor creatures so they could fucking clean them. It was bad enough being up to my eyes in muddy boots and clothing without being up to my eyes in blood, guts and feathers. Temper and sour mood then got the better of me and I slung the bag of dead pheasants across the utility room floor. I was coldly told to pick it up. I refused, stating that I wasn’t a fucking gundog and I was sick of fetching and carrying and being taken for granted by the pair of them. Shane said he was sick of my whining tantrums and gave me a count of five to pick the bag up, straighten my face and get on with my job with good grace and due respect, or he’d apply his belt to my bottom.
I was very pissed off with my lot in life to say the least, though actually, helping to clean the birds proved therapeutic in the end. Cleaning and gutting game isn’t a favourite task of mine at the best of times, but I named my two birds Dick and Shane and hacked off their heads and ripped out their guts with relish.
Anyway, at the end of the discussion last Wednesday, Shane acknowledged that sometimes my workload might seem unfair, but then added that it was tough. I hadn’t been promised a rose garden when I signed up for a permanent residency as houseboy. He accepted that in his job there were days when his workload exceeded the usual quota and he didn’t whine on about it. He just got on with him and so could I and I could do it without bearing a childish grudge. We kissed and made up and he presented me with a bar of my favourite dark chocolate.
Well, I can’t be sitting here gossiping. Time to move my arse before it takes root. I've got food to puree for papa bear.
Friday 11th December 2009:
We’re having a very wintry day here today. It’s been foggy and frosty all day. I went out for my morning run and even though I kept a steady pace I never really got warm. My sweat felt like icicles on my skin. I was glad to get home.
I got into bother on Tuesday evening. I was washing up after dinner when Dick came into the kitchen bemoaning the fact that he was starting a cold. He couldn’t find any tissues to wipe his nose because the selfish, gives me a glare, houseboy had used them all to mop up his cold fluids and hadn’t replaced them. He’d have to blow his nose on fucking kitchen paper and end up with chapped nostrils as a result. I told him he was a big baby and real men relished wiping their noses on kitchen paper because it proved how macho they were. In fact really macho men wiped their noses on sandpaper. He said balls to that and he wanted some nice soft tissues, ASAP please.
I made solemn promise to beta Daddy that I would bulk buy soft paper snot rags first thing on the morrow. To placate him and tide him over until I could get to the shops I told him that there was a packet of Kleenex in my coat pocket, a left over from my own run in with the snot genie. So he went off to get them. Alas, in addition to the tissues he found something else in my coat pocket, something I'd forgotten about and it did not bode well for this boy. He found the form for the blood test that I should have gone for at the beginning of this month. I kept meaning to go, but to be honest I just couldn’t be fagged, if you’ll pardon the expression. I explained that I had gone, but came away because there was a queue and then claimed that I simply forgot to go back. He was not impressed. In fact he was rather a cross Daddy and his accent turned cut glass as he gave his opinion of my oversight, which he regarded as a form of wilful disobedience. The cold germ he’d caught had obviously affected his strictness gene.
By way of punishment he hired two heavies from rent-a-thug who burst into the house early next morning. After beating me severely about the head and shoulders they tied me up and slung me in the boot of their car. I was taken to a back street phlebotomist who used a rusty hypo to siphon enough blood out of my arm to keep a colony of vampires going for a month. (Lie detector says, NO) Oh alright, that isn’t quite true. There was just one thug and it was Dick. He drove me to the clinic before it was even open and shoved me inside the moment the door was unlocked. The phlebotomist had barely got her coat off.
Once the deed was done he took me home again where he put me over his knee and spanked my bottom for my casual attitude to what he termed an important safeguard. The spanking hurt and so did his disapproval. I humbly apologised and admitted that laziness had been a prime factor in not going back for the blood test. I was grateful that he chose to deal with my transgression himself and not involve alpha Daddy, who he said had enough on his plate dealing with the aftermath of his biopsy. Shane would have taken an even dimmer view of my ‘laziness’ than Dick and I would probably have been given a sound paddling. Blood tests to check my medication are scribed on tablets of stone as a commandment: thou shalt have thy blood taken and tested regularly and not just when thou can be fucking bothered to sit in a queue.
I’m going to broach the subject of Christmas trees this evening. The frosty weather has made me feel festive and I think it’s time to be planning on un-boxing the fairy lights. I’ve been perusing a couple of online nurseries and one of them has a nice line in Nordman spruce trees. They’re a bit pricey, but they don’t drop their needles so they’re worth the extra.
Sunday 13th December 2009:
On Friday evening after dinner as planned I began to make Christmas tree noises, which isn’t easy, it takes training. Shane and Dick looked at each other and then Shane said he needed to have a word with me. He broke the news that there was probably no point getting a tree as we were likely going to be away for Christmas and New Year. I was stunned and demanded to know why it hadn’t been mentioned until now. He calmly stated that it hadn’t been mentioned because plans were not yet finalised and anyway they knew what a pain in the arse I’d be over it. Apparently I’m always a pain in the arse over Christmas arrangements. I then demanded to know where the hell we were going, surely not Penny’s?
It looks like we might be spending the holiday with Dick’s family. Dick’s mother is quite formidable. I feel awkward and ill at ease around her. She makes me feel like a jarring note in the symphony of his life. When she says my name it’s as if she’s trying to pass a difficult bowel motion. I can see actual pain in her eyes as she forces it out of her gob. Dick says that any sense of inferiority I feel is self generated and not imposed. I suppose there might be an element of truth in that, but still it doesn’t make me feel any better. To be honest given a choice I’d sooner have my genitals chewed off by evil pixies than spend Christmas down south. I stated that I didn’t want to go and I’d stay at home on my own, thanks very much. Shane snapped straight into heavy Dom mode. He reminded this little chicken that the cock rules the roost not the hens. He then made it very clear that when it came to Christmas what would be would be and I would accept it without rancour or incur his very deep displeasure. He’s very scary when he puts his uber Top hat on and when he allocated me a portion of floor at his feet and told me to sit on it and keep quiet I did so without hesitation.
I’m really not looking forward to the prospect of spending Christmas with Dick’s family, but there’s not a lot I can do about it, not unless I can get hold of a phial of swine flu virus and infect us all so we have to stay home. I know I’m being selfish. He hardly ever spends Christmas with his family, something that his mother apparently took pains to point out when she called him about this year’s festive arrangements.
I’m getting a headache. I’m going to have to pop some painkillers. It’s seasonal stress; it’s starting to get to me. I’ve got loads of stuff to do.
Tuesday 15th December 2009:
Just realised that I forgot to push the publish button after my last two entries, what a twit.
I got my Christmas tree. It’s standing resplendent in the lounge. I was determined to have one regardless of going away. I bought it yesterday and had it up and decorated before the men folk came home from work. Shane gave my bum a slap of admonition for forking out forty quid from the housekeeping money (fifty once the delivery charge was clagged on) on a tree without asking him first, but otherwise said nothing. It looks beautiful.
We’re going out for a Chinese meal this evening with Rob and Howard, should be fun.
Friday 18th December 2009:
The Daddies were grump buckets to a man this morning. It was like tending to a pair of pre-conversion Scrooges. Bah humbug! We’ve had some heavy snow overnight and neither was looking forward to driving to work in such icy conditions. Personally I think some of the grump was cover for grief at the retirement of Terry Wogan from his morning radio two show after 150 years of broadcasting. Oh yes, my two were part of his legion of TOG’s (Terry’s Old Geezers and Gals) But don’t tell them I said that because they’d deny it and then kill me for spreading false rumours. They like folk to believe they only listen to intellectual radios three and four.
I’m quite happy about the snow. In fact I’m hoping that we have a Himalayan cold front move in and deposit several more tons of the stuff, thus rendering long distance driving unwise and keeping us home for Crimbo.
Well, I am mad busy at the moment. We’re having a party this evening and entertaining over the weekend too. I’m just dropping in to deliver my Christmas card to you. CLICK HERE
