Yesterday morning at 8.30am, I ate a whole box of stuffing mix. This was part of my new game, “let’s remove an essential ingredient from the food cupboard,” and has completely stuffed up the chance of a roast this week. (Stuffed up! See what I did?!) Anyway, I was bored once everyone had left the house, plus I was quite offended by what had been left as my distraction treat. An empty Po Valley fat- free vanilla yogurt pot. Look, if you’re going to give me a yogurt pot, at least make sure it’s one with some semblance of flavour. Fat-free vanilla my foot. Insipid and dull, frankly, which was why I needed to look around for something with more flavour and bite to it. There on the tins shelf, was a new box of Paxo. So I dragged it into the lounge, ripped it open and ate the lot. It was nice, but did make me quite thirsty. She came back in from town and shouted at me, but I think this was largely because some frantic hoovering had been done the day before, and now there was gritty powder all over the bldy carpet.
Still, we made up and went out for a long walk. On the way down the road, we bumped into dear, dear Ebony again, and she had a different covering on her sore paw. This one was harder and looked like a black boxing glove. To make the point, Ebony clouted me round the head with it, and we all laughed. Then I was dragged for 3.2 miles, yes I counted every bit, which was rather excessive. Of course it was at the usual unrelaxed marching pace; this time to the tune of “Every Day Hurts” by Sad Cafe. Most of you won’t have been born when this was in the charts, so won’t know this particular dirge and you are lucky in this. As usual the tempo was increased from its original as we charged around Top Field. I tried to hang out in the middle, bushy part where I nearly caught a pheasant the other day, but was eventually put on the lead and dragged off. Staggering home from this epic walk, I spotted Teddy the copper Australian labradoodle, and better still, his Pack Leader’s friend was there! The one with the skin colour that I don’t like, nor his accent. But this Wise Man has learned his lesson, and I went bouncing up to him to snatch a biscuit out of his hand, rather violently. He is very pleased that I have overcome my issues regarding his ethnicity, so long as he has a treat in his pocket.
I was shattered for the rest of the day and slept in my chair. The day hadn’t started well, to be honest, as Young Lad had a crisis while getting ready for school. In a zealous fit of laundry at the weekend, Young Lad’s blazer had been washed but the appropriate care wasn’t taken when checking the pockets, and Young Lad’s special card on which Penalties are recorded at school had disintegrated. Not having the Penalty card is, in itself, a crime for which there is a Penalty, so you can see Young Lad’s angst. This was poor management on behalf of whoever did the laundry. She was sure She had checked the bldypockets and removed the bldytimetable and bldypens, but it seems one pocket was overlooked. Oh dear. Poor Young Lad. He was told to go the school office and explain what had happened, but Young Lad feels there will be another Penalty for items being put through washing machines. Once all that drama died down and they headed off to school, Gingercat and I sighed with relief. Of course, a pop into town and a sit-down in Costalotta was needed for some people after all this early morning grief.
Whilst Young Lad was being collected from after-school cricket practice, I had another look around the food cupboard. I could just about reach the jumbo packet of conchiglione (pasta shells with a pretentious name), and knocked it off. I only ate half of this, as it was a jumbo packet bought for an economy drive, but it kept me busy for half an hour in the lounge, ripping into the packet and crunching my way through a couple of hundred grams of dried pasta. They really were crunchy too, and I imagine this was extremely good dental care for my teeth. It wasn’t, however, quite so good on the digestion front, as it didn’t sit well with the Paxo from the morning. There was a lot of terrible flatulence in the evening, with both noise and odour being problematic. I kept this up all night long, and the house smelled like a sulphur factory this morning.
I’ve been at dear Ebony’s today, which has been rather lovely, although my digestion was still a little up the spout. I don’t feel it was necessary for my Pack Leader and Ebony’s Pack Leader to compare notes of what I was producing on my Comfort Breaks, though. It’s so undignified. Colour and texture are private matters, really, aren’t they.
Tonight’s evening meal ended with the pancakes that Young Lad had made in Food Tech today, (The tomato soup is next week, you’ll just have to wait bit longer to see how much skin he peels off his hands.) The appearance of the pancakes let them down a little, I feel, but then they have been bouncing around in a box in Young Lad’s rucksack since Lesson 3. Anyway, no matter because they tasted superb, so I’m told, although Lad made lots of gagging noises and clutched his throat dramatically when eating his. Lad says that cooking is easy and all you have to do is follow a recipe, how hard can it be, when it was pointed out that his repertoire extends to removing fish fingers from the freezer and putting them under the grill. Lad refused to accept this criticism and is going to learn to cook when he goes to University, but not in the first term as they will live on Ready Meals and MacDonalds. The point was made that he won’t be able to afford a second term if this is the case.
Well, I’m in the lounge tonight for Boys’ Night as they are watching yet another football match on the telly. The TV in the other room has another Scandi Nordi Dark thing on – BBC Four never seem to run out of them – and I’d rather listen to football chants than all that darkness. It is NOT LONG, Readers, before the Royal Wedding, when I’m hoping to pop up to Windsor Castle to be one of the select crowd. If Meghan in her beautiful dress (rumoured to be costing £400K bldyridiculous) sets eyes on me, I know that she will stop the carriage and let me jump on board! Then I can go and live with her and her other Beagle. I’m confident that she has Paxo stuffing mix in her food cupboard, and won’t shout at me for tucking in. And I can’t imagine Meghan will discuss texture and colour of things inappropriately with the Queen, as they have greater decorum.
See you soon,