You are truly blessed, Readers, to be having another blog straight after last night’s. I don’t usually do consecutive nights these days as you know, as I am simply far too busy being a famous author. However, as the schedule for the next few nights is so bldy tight and this week at work is ‘nuts’, it was decided to crack on while the going is good. I hope you appreciate this.
Well I must say that life as an author has been very exciting. Down at the river this morning, people actually shouted across the field at me and gave me the thumbs up, which I took to mean that they had been busy ordering. I know for a fact that Chuck’s Pack Leader has been on the case, as he even took the time to write a review on Amazon – though I may be taking issue with him over the three stars. Hopefully by reading my blog tonight he will see the error of his ways and go back to edit his review, giving me at least five. I imagine his finger slipped on the keyboard – it’s easily done.
The day started slightly stressfully as someone went back to sleep after the 6.00am alarm. This was blamed on Gingercat who had woken her up at 5.10am, but anyway the result was a lot of running around and shouting “get in the shower, oh for God’s sake I haven’t ironed any school shirts, what do you MEAN you need food tech ingredients?” and things like that. Poor Young Lad’s Food Technology- which was meant to be making shortbread- was cancelled last week due to Sports Day, so it was anticipated rather late in the day, or early in the morning to be precise, that he might indeed need the ingredients today. As usual there was no unsalted butter in the fridge. Really, I’m sure in most organised working parents’ homes, there is always unsalted butter in the fridge. How difficult can it be?
This meant a bad-tempered detour to Tesco on the way to school. Thank goodness they open at 7am. Once Young Lad had been dropped off, it was necessary to ‘pop into town’ to calm down in Costalotta – but tragedy had struck! Readers, Costalotta was shut due to technical difficulties!! The bad temper didn’t improve at this point, and She had to stomp along to a rival coffee shop. It was 5p dearer, which She begrudged.
Thankfully our morning walk was simply marvellous and very therapeutic. We saw lots of friends who all congratulated me on my succcess, and I was particularly interested in what one gentleman had in his hand. I thought it might be a treat for being such a successful author, and I jumped up at him boisterously. Sadly it was a cigar. Readers you know that I made this mistake once before, mistaking a Marlborough Lite for a dog biscuit. It was most upsetting, and did not require the guffawing about Beagles, the tobacco industry and is he called Benson? Funnygit her brother calls me Rothmans, and I resent this allusion to our bleak history.
So I had no choice, Friends, but to roll over and over in a pile of intestines. Something had died near the river and there was a browny/red/glutinous mess on the grass. I thoroughly enjoyed this and made sure I rubbed it all over my stomach, under my ears and round my neck. I felt this would serve her right for laughing at me. Indeed I was plastered in blood and entrails, so was shouted at and put on the lead for the rest of the walk. Further on I did see lovely Chuck with his gleaming coat, but I was yanked away sharply because I was “disgusting.” I had already been shouted at and chased earlier on, for cocking my leg on the Man Under The Willow Tree’s tent – but to be fair, this has been disassembled and he clearly isn’t using it, so I don’t see what the fuss was about.
Once home, the blue paddling pool was taken down from where it has been propping up the back fence for a year (classy), and filled with warm water. Rubber gloves were donned and I was forced to stand in the paddling pool while bowls of water were chucked over me, and shampoo rubbed in firmly. There were some silly retching noises while this went on, which was totally unnecessary. Then I was made to lie in my bed in the sun to dry.
Thankfully, it was soon time to go and collect Lad from the airport after his holiday with his friends in the sun. I curled up in my chair and had a good sleep to recover from the stress of the morning. She had the ridiculous idea of getting to the airport early, to wander round in a relaxed way and do a little shopping. What She didn’t know was that the car park was £5.50 for half an hour, £10 for 60 minutes, £16.50 if you went over 60 minutes and then £26.50 if you got carried away in the small WHSmiths and were there for 2 hours. This was yet another classic schoolboy error, and there was a panicked attempt to reverse out of the car park when the prices were seen, but there were several cars behind, so once you’re in, you’re in!
Oh dear. No amount of relaxed wandering around an airport was going to make up for that. Thankfully there was a branch of Costalotta that wasn’t having technical difficulties, other than the price, so that was something.
Anyway, it’s marvellous to have Lad home safely and to hear all his tales of six days away with fellow Lads. I think he has learned much about the world and travelling. It was also wonderful to have Dinnertime Debates going again – despite not having been to bed last night, Lad was still able to wax lyrical about the World Cup and why England had lost, and what Gareth Southgate should/shouldn’t have done, and why Dele Alli should NOT being playing centre-mid. Lad is very clever and you can only admire his stamina at still being able to express opinions after two hours’ sleep on Ryanair.
Readers, I cannot believe my ears. I have just heard whispered the words “annual booster jabs”, “Vets” and “7.40pm.” Unbelievable. You know quite well that this time of evening is when I sleep upside down in my chair and snore loudly. This is a travesty. How DARE She! Who the heck takes their animals to the Evil Vet at this time of night for JABS!!!!?
They will have to muzzle me, I’m afraid, as I will have their hand off. And if it’s the Evil Vet who told me I’m not very brave last time, I will be doubly hysterical. Gingercat is about to be shoved into his horrid smelly basket – quite how She thinks She can hold both of us I do not know.
Well I hope you are having a lovely quiet evening, Friends, not having muzzles forced on you and needles stuck in you.
Meghan Markle quite definitely does NOT treat her Beagle like this.
Bye for now,