What’s the fastest cake in the world? Scone. ( s’gone.) What’s the second fastest cake in the world? Merrrrringue. (You have to say it like a racing car.) Don’t worry, that’s it for my joke repertoire.
For once, Reader, it wasn’t me being told off at 6.30 this morning, it was Gingercat. A packet of SparksmeanMarks sultana scones had been purchased, and left on the worksurface wrapped in a sandwich bag. Oh dear, what an error of judgement. Gingercat is rather partial to a scone, and during the night he chewed through the plastic bag AND the scone wrapping, and chewed the top layer off two scones. Regular Readers will know that this isn’t the first time Gingercat has done this. You would think lessons had been learned, wouldn’t you. Of course not.
As you can see, I’m feeling a little less grumpy. Partly this is because I was at dear, dear Pippa’s house for daycare today, and I haven’t seen her for ages. I had a lovely day, with people who care about me, and was sound asleep in the armchair when I was picked up tonight. Yesterday the weather was shocking, Friends, and there were even Weather Warnings. Was I allowed to stay in the warm and dry for the day? You know quite well that would never happen. Oh no, I was dragged out in the morning for a “hearty” walk in ice-cold winds and sheeting rain. How many other dogs were out, do you think? You’re right. We didn’t see one. Thankfully it was too unpleasant for a silly length of walk, so we called it a day after two miles. I was SOAKED by the time we returned home, and really quite cross that I’d had to endure this. Rubbing me down fairly briskly and rather roughly with a manky old towel didn’t make up for it.
I did then spend the rest of yesterday in my armchair, sleeping, which was nice. I needed to rest because, actually, I’m limping a little at the moment and suspect I am Injured. They’ve noticed, but are hoping it will, “sort itself out,” because they don’t want a bill from the Evil Vet. Yes they’ve noticed, but I’ve been given very little sympathy and still dragged out for long walks. Last night as I was trying to get to sleep, She started touching my legs and paws and saying, in a silly voice, “where does it hurt? Is it here? Here?” I helped her to understand where it bldyhurts by wrinkling my nose and growling. Though actually I did that every time a finger was jabbed against anywhere on my leg as I was highly irritated by the whole procedure. The problem doesn’t seem to be my paw, as I would dramatically hold it up in a pathetic look- at- me -way, but possibly a muscle somewhere. There will be no rush to take me to the Evil Vet’s for help, though, and I’m expected to limp through for another couple of days to see if, indeed, it “sorts itself out.” Such kindness.
Last night it was home-made leek and potato soup with jacket spuds for dinner, to celebrate it being the last day of April and about minus two. Lad and Young Lad would both be starving hungry and freezing cold after their days at school, and so would He. Comfort food was needed. There was some swearing once the soup had been half- made, as the blender seems to have packed up. Small kitchen electrical items do not last long in this house, and I’ve lost track of the number of food mixers, blenders and weighing scales that have been bought. So there was a mad dash to the homeware section at Tesco to buy another bldy blender, with the intention of actually keeping the bldy receipt and bldy guarantee this time, all ready for when it packs up in six months’ time. The soup was ok, but could probably have done with another minute or two in the blender to get rid of the stringy bits of leek. Such a lack of patience. After tea I was dragged round the rec as it had stopped raining, and there was a slight chance I hadn’t had enough exercise earlier. On our return Lad and Young Lad cried out that they were STILL STARVING, despite the jumbo jacket potatoes and whopping bowl of rather thick soup, so an apple crumble was hastily whipped up to stop them moaning. It did the trick. It would stop me moaning, too, but I wasn’t given any.
Young Lad is in denial, Readers. Apparently there are something called, “end of year exams,” next week, and Young Lad is expected to revise for them. Can you imagine how dull it is in my house at the moment? Not just Lad, but now two of them supposedly sitting there reading through stuff and writing on lots of postcards. Well, that’s what should be happening in theory. Young Lad hasn’t quite got to grips with this yet, and is busy watching NCIS on telly instead. I don’t think this is part of the revision schedule, but he seems quite happy with it. He needs to take a leaf out of Lad’s book, if you ask me, and in fact Young Lad has been told this several times, really loudly.
It seems very hard and not always a lot of fun being a human. There seems to be so much work all the time, and it never seems to end. The world would be a much happier place without End Of Year exams, GCSEs, Targets and the like. It does make one question the point of it all. Far better to just sleep, raid cupboards, sleep, dig up bones, sleep and eat. My targets are far more fun.
I know, sorry, that’s a rare moment of profundity from me.
Sicknote has said she is perfectly happy with her name, thank you, as she and I both like to speak as we find. But thank you for the concern.
Tonight there is another football match on telly, so I’ll be in the lounge with Lad, Young Lad and He. She will be in the other room, and in a change from the normal dreary noir tv, wants to watch a programme called, “Ambulance.” I kid you not. Tomorrow will be lovely, as I’m at dear Ebony’s for the day, where I will get far more sympathy about my injury, although it’s possible Ebony might whack me round the head with her bad paw again. She’s such a laugh.
See you soon,