Thursday 6th October 2011

 

Hello peeps, 'tis I, the houseboy, calling in to dispel rumours that I'm dead.

I've spent the last few days sorting out the garden and putting in lots of winter bedding plants and bulbs. Shane will have a cow when he sees how much I've spent at the garden centre. As well as bedding plants I also bought a new leaf sucker, because despite the unseasonably warm weather, the trees are gearing up for autumn and dropping their leaves in golden showers. I had a slight accident with my former leaf-guzzling gadget. It blew up on Monday morning when I was clearing leaves off the front garden and drive.

Note to self: empty the fucking bag at least one in a blue moon you bone idle bastard.

Actually it wasn't just being overfull that caused it to blow up, I snagged it on a bush and it split. I nearly shit myself when it boomed. It was horrible. It made a hell of a mess. I was covered in damp mulch and mushed up sluggy stuff. There was no way I was spending the day with that muck clogged in my hair and pores. I needed a shower. The men folk were at work so I called Eileen in the hope she'd come over and stay in the house while I cleaned up, but she was out. I was gutted. I was tempted just to go ahead and shower anyway, telling myself that the men folk would never know. They're super strict about the rule regarding me not bathing or showering unless one of them, or someone, is in residence. They worry about me having an episode.

I had one of those devil and angel moments.

The little devil on my right shoulder said: 'go on, Gilli, don't be a wus, just do it. The Daddy dictators will never know, not unless you fess up. Why spent the day looking and smelling like a compost heap when there's a nice hot shower waiting upstairs?'

The little angel on my left shoulder said: 'No, Gill, you mustn't do it, it would be wrong. You have a duty to obey your Daddies wishes.'

Little devils butts in: 'don't listen to him, they'll never know I tell you.'

Little angel: 'what if something happens, what if you have an episode and slip and fall as a result? You could hit your head, knock yourself out and drown in a few inches of water.'

Little devil: 'don't listen to all that bollocks, Gil. You're feeling fine and anyway, even if you did have a brain fizz while in the shower you'd be okay, you hardly ever fall over.'

Little angel: 'don't listen to him, he's a knob, remember the time you fell and cut your head on the towel rail? Don't do it, Gilli. It's not worth the risk, besides, with your luck, Shane will probably drop in and discover you, or he'll find out somehow and your arse will be toast. He'll whop it from white to the red raw fires of hell.'

The little angel had a point and with a sigh I flicked the devil from my shoulder and went and did the only thing I could do in the circumstances. I sent Dick some hot and horny texts suggesting if he came home on his lunch hour he'd find a dirty little houseboy waiting to fulfil his master's every desire. I also sent a couple of porno pics to fan the flames.

It was barely past noon when I heard the screech of car tyres on the drive. He was a bit taken aback to discover that the dirty houseboy bit was literal. I was beginning to smell a bit by then as well. I got a smack or two for my duplicity and my carelessness with the leaf vac, but they were more foreplay slaps than punishment slaps. Once he'd scrubbed me down in the shower it was into bed for some good clean and yet deliciously dirty fun. He went back to work happy and I had a pleasant nap.

The Master Masons are off to a meeting and dinner do at the lodge tonight. They came home early and now they're upstairs getting ready. I'm just waiting for them to start bawling demands along the lines of: where's my white shirt, black tie, black socks and so on. A houseboy's work is never done. 

 

Saturday 8th October 2011

 

Dick and I donned chain mail underpants this morning, metaphorically speaking, though I'm pretty certain that if Armani brought out a range of chain mail men's knickers then Dick would be first in line to buy a pair. What I mean is that Shane is in a ball-busting mood and we're tiptoeing around fearful of being savaged.

I copped it first. I was in the kitchen preparing brekkie when Shane came downstairs. I was summoned into the hall by a growl of command. Pointing a paw at the vase of flowers on the hall table he ordered me to throw them out, as they were as dead as a twat and the water STANK to high heaven, wherever high heaven is, it's obviously a grade or two above low heaven and indicates a crime on a par with murder.

I should have just obeyed the command, but being me I had to open my gob and try to justify the crime by saying the weirdly warm weather we've had lately was responsible for the flora decaying. He coldly stated he wasn't asking for a post mortem on their cause of death he was telling me to dispose of the carcasses, as I should have done days ago, lazy little bugger. I hastened to obey. Mind you, they did stink. The stems were all slimy and mouldy. I nearly gagged when I was chucking them in the bin. I've had to put bleach in the vase to get rid of the slime and stench.

Dick got a roasting for texting one of his golf chums at the breakfast table. He was told it was bloody rude and he was to put the fucking phone away and pay attention to eating the good food that had been prepared for him. Dick sweetly apologised, but with an edge of sarcasm, which prompted Shane to issue a warning about attitude.

So, what's ruffling big Bear's fur? I sort of know and don't know.  A contract he's been negotiating fell through yesterday and then Penny phoned last night. I don't know what the call was about, but Shane was fizzing after it. He didn't say anything, not in words, but his face and the set of his jaw spoke volumes. He was mighty pissed off about something. Dick ventured to ask what was wrong. Shane replied with a tight little shake of his head, a clear indication he had no wish to discuss it at that point in time. Dick accepted the rebuff without rancour. He's better at that kind of thing than me. I still tend to view such actions as a personal rejection. Shane will share and discuss when he's good and ready, at least with Dick.

Dick has gone off golfing so I'm home alone with grumpy Daddy. He's working on his laptop in the lounge. I'm going to don combat gear and venture to ask if he wants some coffee. Keep me covered…I'm going in

 

Thursday 13th October 2011

 

I've got a cold so stand well back from your computers in case I sneeze. I'm eating a bacon sarnie so you'll get pebble dashed with more than spittle and snot. It could end up being a very messy morning. I've got the heating turned up to nuclear mode because I'm chill and shivery all over. I feel like I've got a couple of snowballs and an icicle clustered between my legs, a substantial and chunky icicle I hasten to add, just in case you think my chilly willy is a little skinny thing!  Good job Shane isn't home, he'd turn the heating down and forcibly shove me into several sweaters to keep warm. I don't like being all muffled up in loads of clothes. 

I'm taking full advantage of the adage that states you must feed a cold and starve a fever. I intend to stuff my face until hopefully the virus causing it explodes with a surfeit of calories. Serves it right for invading the temple of my body without so much as an invitation. I blame the guy who was using the cash point machine in front of me at the bank last Monday. He was sneezing and coughing, wheezing and gasping, bloody hell I thought he was going to peg out. He left disgusting microbe infested spitty bits all over the screen. I wished I'd had some antibacterial wipes on me, but I didn't. I wiped the keys with my jacket sleeve before touching them, but the virus still hijacked me. 

I've had several mails from kind folks, which I thank you for. A couple have asked if and when I'm going to get off my arse and collate more of my houseboy witterings into another booky wook, especially as to how I came to the realm of the Daddies in the first place. The answer is yes, in time, I will. I just haven't felt motivated to write as much lately. I've been dabbling with organising my 2008 diary, there were a few things there that I never expanded on properly and I'd like to get around to it. I'm not a professional author and I don't write at a professional author's pace. I'm a word-loving gobshite who enjoys scribbling from time to time and who is egotistical enough to enjoy seeing a book or two on my bookshelf written by moi.  If my wittering entertains you then I'm chuffed. :)

Shane's brother James was the cause of his prickly temper at the weekend. Penny informed him that James has been trying to get their dad to sign over control of his assets to him, so he doesn't have to worry about them. James is the old man's golden child, even though the only time he sees or hears from him is when he wants something. Shane and his brother have a bit of a tense relationship at the best of times. Shane has no patience with the way James manages or rather mismanages his financial affairs. He and his wife earn a packet, but they still live well beyond their means. Anyway, Shane called James on Sunday morning to discuss the matter. The fucking study door was glowing red; you could feel the heat seeping out from under it. Dick and I stayed well out of the way. 

Ah well, my bacon buttie has been consumed and I must away to do my duties. After my rant about cleaning products a few weeks ago, I had a couple of emails from good folk with tips for using natural products to clean with. I've decided I'm going to put some of them to the test. Lemons brace yourselves to be squeezed! It's experiment time! 

 

Thursday 20th October 2011

 

I think I may be developing OCD. That business with Mr Snot Box at the cash machine last week triggered it off. Thanks to him I've had the cold from hell. I lost my voice for a few days. The men folk claimed it was like having a holiday. Rotten sods, they have no sympathy. Dick did offer to rub my chest with some Vicks ointment, but I declined. There was an air of kinkiness about him; his eyes had that evil gleam that precedes acts of wanton debauchery. I would have probably ended up with more than my chest being rubbed and I dunno about you, but the thought of having menthol based grease rubbed onto my bits and bobs and into my tunnel does not appeal. It would be like the ginger business all over again, and God knows I'm still mentally scarred from that incident.

Anyway, he said, getting back on course, OCD, I reckon I'm developing it.  Did you know that most everyday surfaces are more germ and bacteria encrusted than your average toilet? It's true. According to recent reports most mobile phones have traces of faecal matter on them. It puts a whole new slant on talking shit! Aside from mobiles, one of the worst harbourers of nasties is a computer keyboard.  It makes sense. We eat and drink over our computers, sneeze, cough, pick our noses, scratch our bums and yank at our privates (I’m thinking porn sites here, and I know you all peek at porn from time to time) and then rattle off a couple of emails without so much as a thought about the germs colonising under our fingernails. 

Since reading the report and in light of my own experience I’ve been spraying and wiping everything in sight with antibacterial cleaner. I'm afraid chemicals trump lemons and soda crystals when it comes to bug killing.

The men folk are fearful of using their mobiles anywhere near me in case I whip out a wet wipe and attempt to de-germ them, the phones that is, not the men folk. I’ve even taken to carrying a travel pack of antibacterial wipes around with me so I can swipe one over public cash machine keypads before I use them. It gets me some funny looks, but I don't care. The cash machine outside Tesco was left gleaming after I'd withdrawn twenty quid the other day.

We've having a guest for dinner tonight, a business associate of Dick's, I'm thinking of serving him with some lava beans and a nice Chianti. Of course what I mean is that a guest is COMING for dinner tonight. I suppose I ought to rush out and buy a mega pack of antibacterial wipes just in case he comes all over the dining room table and leaves it crawling with germs! Some folk eh! You can't take them anywhere.

Enough jabbering. I must be off to do some work. By the way, I've managed to catch up on a bunch of emails this morning (fear not, I de-germed the keyboard before sending, there'll be no viruses in mails from me) I've still got a few to do, but I'm getting there. I do appreciate hearing from folks, but I'm terrible at keeping up with mail replies. I let them bank up until answering them becomes a daunting task. I was the same as a kid. I always put off doing my homework until the last minute. I'd end up with a ton of it to do all at once. I'd then fling a paddy and try to get out of going to school. It drove my poor mum up the wall.

Ta-ra for now and remember, if you don't want shit on your phone then wash your hands after going to the loo. And yes, YES, I am working on getting another book slung together! I might do some writing this afternoon, if I can get the household bacteria down to acceptable levels.


 

 November 2011


 

 
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