Wednesday, 21 September 2016

Don't Come A Knocking ...

SD stopped in his track this morning.

'What's wrong with your face?' he asked.

I was affronted!

I'd dragged my sorry ass out of bed despite having spent most of the night coughing like a cat with a hairball stuck in it's throat just so I could make SD and Miss Mac a nourishing breakfast before they went off to work and college when obviously I would have preferred to have stayed in bed surrounded by crumpled tissues soaked in Olbas oil and now, when I was SMILING at him despite my pain, he asks me WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY FACE!!

'It's my WINSOME look' I told him indignantly - 'I am SMILING at you!!!'

'Winsome' he replied picking up his bag - 'I think you might have lost that one' and he paused clearly thinking about giving me a kiss but then just patted me on the head before walking out of the door.

All that when I was still smarting at the fact that I don't own a rat shovel!  I didn't even know it was a thing until Joe pointed it out on my last post and BP also wondered why I don't have one but now I feel cheated.  Why don't I have a rat shovel???

I've got a churn brush - I don't suppose everyone's got one of those but a churn brush is no good when you have a rat to dispose of is it?

SD has shovels - I KNOW SD has shovels because the other day when we were at the farm and David (the farmer) had been moving sheep some of them had wandered down the drive to the house and left lots of tiny sheep turds all over the path.  SD thought it would keep me amused for a while if I dealt with it and told me to get the short handled shovel by the coal bunker and flick the poo off the drive where it might be stepped on and then walked into the house and flick it into the hedge (kind of like lacrosse with sheep shit I imagine).  While I was busy flicking (and it was actually rather more fun than it sounds) SD passed by and asked me why I was using the really short handled shovel when he had clearly told me to use the short handled shovel!

I'll bet they have a rat shovel at the farm too - it stands to reason doesn't it?  I mean, if you have a special shovel for sheep shit OF COURSE you have a rat shovel too.  What I want to know is why don't I have one?

I may also require a frog shovel.  After the worm and the rat yesterday Squishy decided to bring in a frog!  They don't kill frogs, I don't think they taste very nice so she dumped this one in the middle of the kitchen and sat watching it.  The frog SCREAMED really loudly - have you ever heard a frog scream?  It's a pretty scary sound and then fortunately it just hopped back out the door so although I didn't really need a frog shovel this time NEXT time I might!

Anyway, last night I was having a bit of a brighter spell so SD decided to take me out to Asda (the old romantic) to do a bit of shopping.

While we were there I saw they had Pernod on special offer.

'Ugg, I HATE Pernod' I told him - 'I drank a load of Pernod and black once and it made me SO sick - I thought I was throwing up BLOOD'.

'I'm not a fan either' said SD.  We got drunk on it at James' house once.  His parents were away for the night and they had a pool so we grabbed a couple of girls and had a party.

James was SD's partner in crime for many years when they were young - it was he who was with him when they inadvertently ended up at a young farmers party in a marquee in the middle of a field in their punk days and were surrounded by a load of angry, burly, tweed jacket (with elbow patches) wearing young men who thought they were after their women (quite right - they WERE) as they danced along to Soft Cell's Tainted Love, hands clasped together, chains hanging from their torn jeans and Mohawks quivering as they warbled 'I'm sorry I don't praaaay that way'.

'I ended up throwing up all over the girl who was asleep beside me'.

'What did you do then' I asked in horror.

'Not sure' he said, the next thing I knew I woke up naked in the bathroom with Henry licking my feet'.

'Jesus SD, WHO was HENRY and why was he licking your FEET?'

Turns out that Henry was James' parents Irish Wolf Hound and SD thought he might have been concerned the he was dead.

Bless him, I LOVE Irish Wolf Hounds, (after Gus of course) they are my very favourite dogs and I love to have one (or two) I would call them Rufus and Seamus.

'So, what did you do' then I asked - 'Well' he said, 'I did think about getting back into bed but to be honest she didn't look quite so appealing covered in purple sick so Henry and I curled up on the couch together'.

We then talked a little about James.  James went on to married a hairdresser.

'I've never really been interested in hairdressers' said SD.  I remember clubbing with James, his (now wife), her sister and a friend.  They were all wearing these really long skirts in a kind of stretchy material that went down to their ankles and they all went to the loo together.  Bloody skirts were so restricting that they could only take tiny steps which is great if you don't want them to get away but a real pain when it each loo trip takes at least half an hour!

'And they giggled a lot' he added as an aside.

I was always more interested in Art students - SO much better dressed!

'So you've never dated a hairdresser then' I enquired.

'No' he said - 'Well ... there was this ONE time I dated one from Weston for a while - I think I was bored of the Taunton nightlife and fancied a change'.

'I remember now' he went on - 'she shared a flat and they had bunk beds!!!'

'SD - you DIDN'T!!!'

He looked sheepish ...


'You know what they say he said ...' (may I now refer you back to the title of this post ...).


Treey Stynes said...

I like cats, but why do they keep bringing stuff in? I'd have preferred a little terrier I think. It would be more fun to have one of them.

Sarah said...

I had a cat once called Billy who lived until he was 23 - the only thing he ever brought in was half a beef burger - that's MY kind of cat!

SARN said...

Sounds like it was a good job I never got drunk on Pernod & Black in my younger days then!! I used to LOVE the stuff! I felt quite sophisticated asking for it at the bar when I was still under age. The youth of today have NO FUN as they just wouldn't get served without ID these days. *SIGH*

If it's any consolation (which it NEVER IS when someone prefaces a sentence with those words) . . . I've never owned a rat shovel either - AND I never knew such a thing existed until I read your post! Live and learn eh?!


Sarah said...

My sister used to drink Campari and soda (another disgusting drink) because she thought it was sophisticated - I stuck to Bacardi and Coke like most of the other underage drinkers.

It's not really much of a consolation to be honest but at least I feel less alone, maybe we could buy each other a rat shovel for Christmas??? xxx

Holly Hollyson said...

After I (rather smugly) told you my cats never brought anything in this happened this morning...I woke up to find my shoes were messy and the insoles were pulled out and scratch marks were inside. Cursing the cats for playing with them, I fixed them and put them on - only to look down and right where my shoes had been there was a dead baby rat. My new guess is the poor thing had tried to escape into my shoes and the scratch marks were the rat's scrabble marks. V sad and also v gross. I will be washing my shoes when I get home.

Sarah said...

God Holly, that is truly DISGUSTING - So much worse than a snail dropping on your head or a frog in the kitchen. I'd boil those shoes in bleach if I were you xx

joeh said...

"Bonk?" You Brits pronounce everything different. We know it as "Boink!" But then that doesn't fit the rhyme as well.

Sarah said...

It definitely Bonk Joe - just like it's Maths not Math and Herb (with a hard h) not 'erb and Yog hurt not Yo ghurt - I'll learn ya somehow :-)

Val said...

I don't mean to brag, but I HAVE heard a frog scream. It was in biology lab, when the professor wanted to show us how the muscles moved the legs, which for some reason required sticking a needle in the frog's head. That's college for ya! Thank goodness the monkeys we dissected were already preserved and incapable of screaming.

I've never boinked in a bunk, though. Nor bonked.

Sarah said...

Poor froggy, I'd have screamed too! I've never bonked in a bunk either and I have to say, it's not on my to do list.