Tonight’s title, Readers, could well be referring to the inclement weather we have had to suffer for weeks – with Storms Ciara, Dennis and then Jorge – but it does in fact refer to one of my better recent moments. At the weekend (storm Jorge in full force) some baking was undertaken to cheer everyone up and a lovely pile of lemon drizzle bars were made. During the evening, Young Lad was given a plate on which sat a lemon drizzle bar and sensibly Young Lad ate it straight away. Lad, on the other hand, was not so wise. Lad left his plate on the table next to the sofa while he went to get a drink. In one of my most agile and frankly graceful leaps ever across the lounge, I exited my chair, grabbed the lemon drizzle bar and ran under the table with it. It was a seemless manoeuvre, absolute poetry in motion. There was some screeching and shouting but this was far too late, and I thoroughly enjoyed my lemon drizzle bar.
Then last night, once everyone was home from school and work, I wandered upstairs to have a look around. Lad suddenly shouted “PORRIDGE!” but don’t worry, he hasn’t developed some sort of breakfast food Tourettes. No, Readers, Lad suddenly remembered that his bedroom door wasn’t closed and there were numerous cups, glasses and a bowl on the floor. In the bowl was the porridge that he hadn’t eaten early in the morning. Lad was far too late in his exclamation and by the time he had run up the stairs, I had grabbed the china bowl and passed him on the stairs as I ran back down with it in my mouth. Again I retired to under the table, where I cleared up all the porridge (it was a bit dried on if I’m honest). This was last night, Readers. Twenty four hours later the bowl is still under the table on the carpet. The level of sloppiness in this house never fails to amaze me.
What else have I been up to? I’ve stolen Gingercat’s food several times but to be fair, Gingercat has put on a lot of weight and could do with cutting down. I’ve also been given a bone which was something of a treat. This was because they were all going to be out ALL AFTERNOON on Saturday – Lad was going to Wet Sham with his friend and because trains are always CRAP at the weekend, (Lad’s words not mine) She offered to drive them up to the end of the Central Line. And so it was that She, Lad and Young Lad all drove off at lunchtime on Saturday and didn’t return until tea time. This was a dreadfully long time to leave me on my own.
It’s all very well saying that I’d had an HOUR’S power walk up the fields in the morning and should have slept all afternoon but that’s hardly the point. Leaving me alone all that time, even with a knuckle bone, was never going to be a good idea. Indeed She thought better of it late in the afternoon and sent a panicky text message to Ebony’s Pack Leader asking if she could let me out in the garden and feed me. Hmm. Friends, too little too late. When Ebony’s Pack Leader arrived, I had opened lots of cupboards and in want of anything better to do, I had found a new packet of toilet rolls and chucked those around. Look there was nothing else to do!
Tonight has been as bldybusy as ever, what with it being Wednesday. Lad and I have had a nice quiet evening at home while Young Lad and She went to indoor cricket nets. There was some concern about the shortbldywindow of time between She getting home from work and needing to go straight back out to cricket, collecting one of Young Lad’s associates on the way, so a short snappy text message was sent to Lad at 4pm which read: COOK DINNER! I felt this was abrupt and dictatorial and that Lad is taken advantage of. Lad did indeed cook dinner which was Young’s cod in batter with chips. Then, Readers, poor Lad received another short snappy text message while Young Lad was at cricket! This one read: I’M KNACKERED PLS TIDY UP. For goodness’ sake! Lad is trying to study for his A Levels and should not be treated like some sort of hired help.
She and Young Lad were looking forward to relaxing on the sofa for an hour once they returned from cricket tonight, but I found the tail end of my knuckle bone and decided to chew it. This makes a pleasing grating noise as my teeth scrape against it and this seems to annoy everyone. In fact I’ve just been told to LEAVE IT! The other problem with chewing a knuckle bone is that you take in an awful lot of air through your mouth as you gnaw, and what goes in must come out. The likelihood is that I will let off foul smells all night long and whoever’s bedroom I sleep in will smell like a sulphur factory in the morning.
Tomorrow I’m at dear , dear Ebony’s house for daycare, having been at dear,dear Pippa’s for the last couple of days. Nobody there will shout at me for taking bowls of porridge, lemon drizzle cake or having unfortunate flatulence.
Golly I’m tired.
See you soon,