What a flipping weekend that was. A mish-mash of this, that and the other. It started off rather badly on Saturday morning. The first ‘project’ on the agenda was to lay slabs for the base of a new garden shed. Another shed, actually. I collect them. I love them. Within five minutes I realised that the human power-house that is Richard was not a human power-house at all but a pathetic example of mankind. And you needn’t go feeling sorry for him either.
He has been moaning on for a fortnight now about a bad shoulder and every time I quietly suggested (bawled) that he went to see the doctor he gave some weak excuse. Eventually I smashed down all his defences and he went and is now on a course of anti-inflammatory capsules. I think they look like pessaries and seriously wonder if he is placing them in the wrong orifice – but what do I know?
Five minutes into slab laying he looked at me with puppy-dog eyes and grimaced. ‘You can’t do it can you?’ I accused. He shook his little bonce and that was that. Job abandoned.
Next on the list was the release into the garden of the wild one – Chea. With little purple collar snugly fitted and bell tinkling, out she trotted. The chucks ran off and Chea ran up a birch tree. Not, by the way, just any birch tree. A very tall birch tree. I have mentioned before that this idiotic kitten can only climb one way – up! After ten minutes of swaying manically at the top of the tree, the idea that she was stuck and couldn’t actually get down registered in her tabby-stripped head.
Ever heard a cat stuck up a tree? Every bedroom window within hearing distance of her cries opened and neighbours stood watching with smiles on their daft faces. We actually had one of our previous cats, Oscar, a Burmese, wedged in the bedroom window once, when we were out for the day, and neighbours had to try to release him from ground level with a line-prop. But, as they say, that is another story.
After twenty minutes and living with the very realistic fear that she was going to fall and impale herself on the pruned buddlia Richard ran for the ladder – well, walked quickly-ish.
With ladder hooked on a branch of the birch tree we called sweetly to encourage her towards the top of the ladder. No luck. After half an hour she managed to get down the tree to a point at which Richard could grab her. As is the case in these matters, I had worked myself up into a right strop thinking that she was going to fall and impale herself, so when Richard handed her to me I shouted at her, stropped off down the garden and dumped her in the kitchen, shouting at her again for good measure.
She spent the next two hours sulking and I spent those same two hours feeling like a right cow for shouting at her – even though she had frightened me half to death. Attempting to put matters right I clipped on the collar again and out we went. I’d just got her up the garden when a helicopter flew over the garden, frightened the proverbial out of her and she bolted for the house, terrified. That was the end of that!
Because I had spent half an hour with my neck bent, looking up a never-ending birch tree, the buggered-up discs in my neck jammed and I woke on Sunday morning with the mother of all migraines.
Being the hero that I obviously am, I still accompanied Richard to visit his dear mother. The fact that she has ordered two signed copies of Mulligan was neither here or there. My migraines are weird and by no means wonderful. If I don’t eat …and eat …and eat …I die. So after a pop into Lidl to purchase four of their newly baked doughnuts, we dashed off to see Betty with me scoffing doughnuts and Richard giving me the evils because I was dropping sugar in the car.
Once there I attempted to focus on my two lovely paperbacks and with pen poised signed my name for the very first time. Disaster! I signed the wrong name! Jenny with a ‘y’ instead of Jennie with an ‘ie.’ What an idiot! What a complete and utter idiot. Richard of course said it didn’t matter because when I’m famous that copy will sell for billions. I have mentioned before, haven’t I, that he is not in the real world?
So I now have two buggered-up copies of Mulligan’s Reach. I blame it totally on the migraine but the truth is I’m an idiot.
When we arrived home, Chea would have nothing to do with me because I’d left her on her own all afternoon, even though I’d left the radio on for company. And when we went to corn the chucks and shut them up, Beautiful had laid a soft egg and was bleeding from the bum. So after separating her from Dust, who would have had no qualms about eating Beautiful alive at the sight of blood, I called it a day.
So all in all a pretty bummer of a weekend.
But at least we all made it through the incidents sent to try us. Beautiful is OK today, but still separated, and hopefully this migraine will shortly pass. If I make less sense than usual please forgive me but at least I tried.
And if anyone would like two really messed up copies of Mulligan’s Reach with the front pages ripped out … ?
Take care my lovelies x