Just When You Think You Know Someone… You Realise You Don’t!

Hi All

You know how they say that you can live with someone for a lifetime and still not really know them? Well, obviously I haven’t lived with Richard for a lifetime, but I do think that I know him, which is hardly fair because there is no way he knows me…at least, not the part of me that constantly confuses and surprises him.

The latest ‘thought I knew him but obviously do not’ episode happened last week.

I was happily causing mayhem on the internet and a text arrived. It said that my order would be with me in two hours, which was weird because I hadn’t ordered anything, other than that nice Mark Harmon from NCIS and, being a realist, I knew the chances of him being delivered were slim. So I forwarded the text to Richard and received no reply. Considering that this was a mistake on the carriers part I cleared off to Morrison’s to buy some bleach for the loo.

On the way out of Morrison’s I spied a little man sitting at a table collecting for something or other. He looked nice so I dropped a pound in his lap. He said, ‘Thank you,’ followed by, ‘Can I interest you in signing up for organ donation?’ My first thought was that he was asking for my old piano, which in itself was weird because I don’t have a piano, old or new. When it twigged that what he was actually requesting was my offal, I laughed.

‘Don’t think any living skin cell on this body will be of any use to anyone,’ I said, smiling my best smile.

‘You don’t smoke and you don’t drink,’ he said, running his eyes up and down my body.

‘How do you know that!’ I screeched. ‘Are you psychic?

‘I know,’ he said, mysteriously. ‘I can tell by looking at you, so there will be a lot that they can use from your body.’

He then went on to convince me that I’m wonderful and that even the parts I thought were worn-out and buggered for all time would be of use to someone.

Anyway, I’m digressing. I trotted out of Morrison’s totally rejuvenated and clutching the organ donation form in my perfect hand.

I haven’t signed it yet. It’s one of those things that once you’ve thought about it you really should give it serious consideration, and I will. Richard has carried a donor card since the day I met him, 23/24 years ago – not that much of him will be of use to anyone. Except maybe his heart. He has the kindest heart and anyone would be privileged to receive it.

Blimey.

Right, when I got home there was a scrap of paper saying that the parcel had been returned from whence it came as no one was here.

Richard later admitted that yes he had ordered something and he would rearrange for it to be delivered.

The next day I saw a note pinned to the front door advising the delivery to be left in the porch, so as not to interrupt me and my busy schedule (????). At some point in the morning the package must have been delivered because when he came home from work he walked in carrying it.

‘What’s that?’ I said, shaking my head and fearing the answer. You see, Richard sits scanning eBay in the evenings and he can’t stop his grubby little finger from twitching over the ‘buy’ button and things are forever dropping through the letterbox, or the postie is standing there leaning on the doorbell, laden down with Richard’s latest ‘need’.

He set about opening the box and pulled out a….wait for it…. banjo!

Yep, a sodding banjo.

‘What the **** have you bought THAT for?’ I shrieked, not holding back on the expletive. This was definitely a more serious purchase than a sticker for the Land Rover.

‘Because I’ve always wanted one,’ he said, grinning, running his hand lovingly over the stupid thing.

‘What do you mean, “You’ve always wanted one” I’ve never heard you mention you’ve always wanted one in the twenty-three years that I’ve known you. You can’t play a triangle and you’re tone deaf.’

‘Well I have,’ he said, obstinately, continuing his loving caresses.

‘You can’t even play it!’

‘I’m going to learn,’ he said.

‘How?’ I said.

‘From the internet.’

‘The internet!’ I bellowed.

‘Yeah, You Tube.’

I had to turn my attention back to NCIS, but before I did I said, ‘You’re not playing that thing in the house.’

‘Don’t intend to,’ he said. ‘I’m playing it in my shed.’

Yeah well, good luck with that. But then, thinking about it, why not? He has a wood burner in there and a large leather sofa and a TV and a radio and wine (maturing in the corner) so he may well disappear into there at the start of autumn and not be seen again until the spring. Much like a grizzly. Suppose I may have to supply him with the odd casserole and crust of bread…but small price to pay for not having my ears subjected to the sound of a million wailing cats.

So, this is the point. You never really know someone. Richard has been hiding the fact that he wants to turn into a banjo-playing hickory-hollow-guy for a very long time, which is really strange because the guy can’t hide anything. He is as readable as a large print book.

I know what has started this. He thinks I don’t, but I do. He tracked down a very old film recently and they do that ‘duelling banjos’ thingy. He likes it. It offends my ears. But anyway, that’s that. The banjo has been taken to work today for an expert to ‘tune it,’ and then it’s off to the shed and away he goes.

I kid you not, my dears, it will be back on eBay by the end of the year!

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Wasn’t Really Going For The Princess Fiona Look!

Hi All

Being a mainly happy dude, and pretty much a positive human being, it grates with me when I wake up grumpy – no, I don’t mean Richard, as you very well know.

We all have days like that, don’t we? You wake up feeling a bit grumpy and then the first thing on your agenda goes wrong and it sets the day’s tone.

Some time ago Richard convinced me that I needed a new iPod and Bose Bluetooth speaker. I won’t bore you with the details of his argument and although I agreed, in theory, the little voice in my head said that this was a dumb idea and a waste of money.

Over the years I have learnt to listen to that little voice. At first I thought I was merely hearing voices, as you do, as it seemed like a natural conclusion, but then I began to realise that the little voice was sent from my gut and it was purely gut instinct. Anything that wakes that little voice is usually a bad idea.

Back to the Bose speaker and iPod. After having given the speaker a long spell in a drawer because it had peed me off the last time I’d attempted to use it and couldn’t connect it, I decided to have another bash. Obviously it was as flat as a pancake and so I allowed it time to charge – and I gave the iPod a top-up as well. When the thing was charged I did what you need to do to pair the devices. One hour later, I gave up and threw the thing back in the drawer. This was the cause of my bad-day beginning. One hour of my life spent on that crap!

The day did get better.

This morning I set about doing the ‘accounts.’ Sounds grand, but it is simply a matter of reconciling money ‘ins’ and ‘outs.’ Having binned the speaker yesterday, I was using the iPod with earphones. Chea was on the chair at the side of me and she was still sleeping so I didn’t want to wake the dear soul by ‘going large’ with the din – although, she has shown a liking for Pink on full volume! Absently scrolling through the playlist and sucking the end of the Paper Mate, green-gel pen, I was surprised when something warm flowed into my mouth. Removing the pen, I stared horrified at green ink trickling out of it and onto the table. It took me twenty minutes and half a tube of toothpaste to remove the ink from my mouth and tongue – and my chin is still green where the ink had trickled out of my mouth before I could make it to the bathroom. How the hell do they get that much ink in a pen?

So, I’m hoping that like yesterday the day will get better. I’m considering suing Pape Mate. I mean, I didn’t see any warning saying ‘do not suck.’ There were more warnings on the bottle of cough medicine I bought last week – apparently that was going to confuse me and cause disorientation. Fortunately, I wouldn’t notice those side effects, they would blend, and damn easier than this green ink.

Richard now has ‘my’ cold but the brave man has plodded off to work this morning. He had a mini meltdown last Saturday, when, with my snotty cold and deafening cough, he spied me in the garden – digging.

‘You must be feeling better, then!’ he announced over the runner beans. ‘If you are digging the garden.’

‘I wouldn’t say I’m feeling better, Richard,’ I said. ‘But what do you expect me to do? Just sit down and do sod all?’

‘Well, I thought we might go out today to look at properties, and then you got up and appeared too ill, and yet here you are gardening – so you must be feeling better.’ he said sulkily, sounding genuinely disappointed that I wasn’t actually dying and too ill to stand up straight.

I slammed the spade into the ground, which really hurt my throbbing head, and turned to him.

‘Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Richard. I mean, I’m sorry that I might appear well enough to walk into the garden and dig up a dandelion! I’ll try to have a relapse if it will help…perhaps pneumonia? Would that please you?’

He grumbled something about me being silly and that he didn’t mean that, and then cleared off, to reappear ten minutes later with a mug of tea for me and coffee for his mardy self.

I do see his point, but I literally have to be ‘off my legs’ with something before I give up and in to it.

The irony of this is, another weekend is here, and now dear Richard has ‘my’ cold. See? It’s ‘my’ cold, and I have given it to him. Well that shows what a kind and sharing human being I am. So, I’m now waiting to see if we go gallivanting looking at properties this Saturday, or if he takes to his sickbed. I know which my money is on – after all, he is a man! Though, in fairness, he is a brave little soldier when he wants to be.

Mind, I’ll have to get rid of this green chin before I can be seen out in public looking like Princess Fiona!

Take care my lovelies x