Tuesday 13th November 2012
I thought I’d better pop in and say hello to my faithful fan (waves at Doris) and other occasional nomadic visitors to my houseboy page of wisdom and wisecracks. It’s been a while I know. What have I been up to? This and that and a bit of the other, well you can’t live with two blokes and not have a bit of the other, especially when one of them is more rampant than a dolphin with a sex addiction. Dolphins, so legend says, are randy devils and will attempt to shag anything with a pulse regardless of species. They’ve been known to try it on with sharks and turtles, and humans. Fuck knows what would happen if our Dick went swimming with dolphins. The waters would be frothing like a Jacuzzi in a fancy spa; only the creamy bubbles wouldn’t be made of soap.
Anyway, he said, moving swiftly on from interspecies shenanigans, I thought I’d better pop in and report before my page withered away from lack of attention.
I had an accident early in October. I was pottering around the garden and noticed that the birdbath was looking a bit grim. It was full of reddish brown algae stuff. It looked disgusting. I decided to clean it before the spuggies reported me to the RSPCB for failing to provide sanitary bathing conditions.
I tipped out the brackish water and wiped out the slimy stuff with reams of kitchen towels. I then decided to pour boiling water into the birdbath by way of scalding it and killing any remaining algae spores before refilling the bath with nice fresh cold water. So I boiled the kettle and carried it outside to pour into the bath, only I had an episode. The sun flickering through the tree branches triggered it off. I was wearing my Polaroids, but it caught me at the side. Before I knew it I was twitching and instead of pouring water into the bath I poured it all over my left hand. The pain was horrendous. I felt nauseous and of course it was made worse because of the episode symptoms.
I stumbled back into the house and stuck my hand under the cold-water tap. It didn’t help. I rang Eileen and she came dashing over. She took one look at it and said it needed hospital treatment. My hand was blistered and burning like the fires of hell, but the rest of me was freezing. Eileen said it was shock. She wrapped a blanket around me and drove me to casualty where my hand was treated and dressed. Très agony even after taking pain medication.
The incident put me in a foul mood and not because my hand was sore and I couldn’t do much around the house and garden while it was healing, but because of how it happened. I resent being a fucking danger to myself. Jesus, only I could have a medical emergency as a result of cleaning out a birdbath. The men folk were sympathetic, to a point. Shane indulged my bad tempered snapping banging and slamming for a couple of days before his patience waved the white flag. Daddy sorted me out. He put a flea in my ear and a sting in my tail.
Later in the month Dick went to a conference in Belgium and Shane had to go away on business for a few days, down to London, well, Croydon to be exact, which isn’t exactly the glamour capital of the world. He took me with him so he could keep an eye on me. I would have preferred to go with Dick on his trip to the chocolate nation, but Shane said tough I was going with him because Dick would spoil me and I was spoilt enough. I don’t know where he gets his ideas from sometimes. Anyway, I rather enjoyed the time away with him. While he worked I pottered around the area or rested in our hotel room looking forward to having dinner with him.
Since then I’ve been busy catching up with house and garden tasks. So there you have it, dear diary, an entry at last.
I’m off now to do some other catch up, catch up telly viewing for ‘tis the season! Strictly Come Dancing, X-Factor, I’m a Celebrity and Merlin are gracing our telly screens once again. Shane HATES this time of year because he virtually has to drag Dick and I out of the house on a weekend as we try to get our fill of trash TV. He insisted we went out last Saturday night so we missed some of our fave trash. Thank God for iPlayer!
Ciao for now!
Friday 16th November 2012
I was washing up after dinner last night when I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. There was something on the wall near the kitchen door. It was a spider. I broke out in a rash of goosebumps and then my goosebumps broke out in goosebumps as the sheer scale of the creature registered. It was the biggest arachnid house invader yet. It was big enough to qualify as a runner in The Grand National. Before I could blink it had dropped off the wall and was galumphing across the kitchen floor, heading straight for my feet. I almost had a spontaneous bowel movement. Grabbing a glass off the drainer I used it to cage the monster and then bawled for help. I can’t stand spiders, but I don’t like killing them. Help arrived, but only after I bawled again.
So there we were, three grown men, gathered around a glass tumbler on the kitchen floor viewing its contents with a mixture of fascination, revulsion and trepidation.
Dick said: “look at its legs, you can see its joints.”
Shane said: “It’s a hunter. I reckon it could give a human a nasty nip with its fangs.”
Fangs! My blood ran cold. I said: “I’m going over to Eileen’s and I’m not coming back until one of you has the balls to put that big bugger outside, well away from the house. I risked life and limb to trap it under the glass. It was racing around the kitchen like a horse. It could have had me. I’m the baby of the family. You’re my Daddies. It’s your job to protect me.”
Dick said: “quite right, honey.” Taking me in his arms he hugged me, casting words over the top of my head at Shane. “I’ll protect baby. You get rid of Shelob.”
I won’t report what Shane said, but he did his manly and Daddy duty. Slipping a bit of card under the glass he carried the humongous spider outside and released it into the darkness. I noted that he came back into the house quicker than he went out of it, as if fearful the beast might track and fell him. I didn’t say anything though. I didn’t get the chance. I opened my gob and he said, ‘shut it’ before I could utter a syllable. He then told me I needed to man up and not be so silly.
I’ve got a surprise for him tonight. I went into town today and bought a big hairy fake spider from a toyshop. It looks realistic, especially when you first glance at it. It made me shudder anyway. I can’t wait to see how he mans up when I drop it on him unexpectedly.
Friday 23rd November 2012
I found a pair of shit filled underpants on the drive this morning. I kid ye not. How wasted do you have to be to shit in your pants in the first place, never mind take them off and hurl them onto someone’s drive? It doesn’t bear thinking about. God knows I’ve been pissed and rat arsed in my time, but I’ve never been shitted and crap arsed.
I certainly wasn’t laundering them. No way was I putting a stranger’s dump filled knickers in my washing machine. I picked them up with a stick and put them in a plastic bag and then chucked them in the doggy poop bin at the end of the avenue. I wasn’t having them stink out my pristine, hosed out once a week, wheelie bin. I hope Mr Shitty, whoever he is, had the grace to wake up feeling embarrassed this morning, and with a mammoth hangover and a sore bum from not having wiped properly.
Shane got home really late on Wednesday evening. He got snarled up in a mega traffic jam. He was in a foul mood when he finally landed. Apparently the Coca-Cola Festive truck, the one you see on the Christmas ads, was paying a visit to a local supermarket. It gridlocked traffic for miles around because the organisers hadn’t informed the local authority about the event so no traffic management plan had been put in place. Shane just about blew a gasket when he found out what had caused the jam. He ranted: ‘what kind of infantile morons want to go and gawp at a fucking truck anyway?’ Dick and I exchanged glances and telepathically agreed not to mention that we’d have quite liked to see it. Instead we made soothing noises and went all out to de-stress our grumpy head of house.
My spider trick worked out a treat last Friday, far better than I anticipated. I racked my brains all day fathoming a way of carrying it out. After dinner the men folk did their usual Friday night thing and retired to the lounge to finish off the bottle of wine opened at dinner. I cleared up, made coffee and took it into them. I did what I usually do and forced my adorable person between them on the couch. After pouring myself a coffee and having a sip or two I suddenly ‘remembered’ some towels I’d left on the line outside and hastened out to get them in case it rained overnight. I concealed spidey in one of the towels and took them into the lounge to fold.
The scene that followed:
I casually shook and neatly folded the spiderless towels and then picked up the ‘bugged’ one. I took careful aim and shook it in Shane’s direction. The spider flew out and landed on his lap. Thankfully he’d just set down his coffee cup otherwise we’d all have been showered in dregs.
A look of sheer horror passed over his face as the beast landed on him. In the soft lamplight it looked even more real. His eyes opened wide and he gave a sort of strangled gasp. Half rising, he whacked it sideways off his knee, in Dick’s direction.
Dick nearly shit himself, shouting, “don’t flick the fucking thing at me.” He too whacked at the spider and shot to his feet.
“Where’s it gone?” Shane started looking around.
Pointing dramatically at the floor near his feet I yelled, “there it is, my God it’s big, and fast.” I swung my finger to Dick’s feet, “it’s near you now, Dick, get it, get it!”
The pair of them reacted by dancing about as if there were firecrackers going off around their feet. It was so fucking funny. The look on their faces was priceless. I cracked up. I had tears of laughter all but running down my legs. I couldn’t speak I was laughing so hard. I pointed at the spider on the floor and tried to say ‘man up, it’s only a toy,’ but I couldn’t get the words out.
They twigged and as one made a lunge for me. Dick called me an evil little bastard and got me in a headlock, bending me over and doing the hand to hair thing I hate. Shane utilised his hand in a different way, smacking and slapping at my bottom, and not playfully either. It bloody stung, but even so I couldn’t stop laughing. Shane said I was a bloody menace and living with me is like living with a twelve year old.
They saw the funny side in the end and let me live, though Shane kept me over his knee for most of the evening, swiping at my backside whenever I tried to say something, or whenever I started laughing again. It was fun.
Oh well, I have duties to attend to. Before I go I’d just like to wish my American fan<waves at Walter> a happy Thanksgiving.