Survival of the fittest

It is a constant battle between Dog and Husband. Husband wants to eat his dinner. Dog, too, wants to eat Husband’s dinner. Husband is not having the bitch have it her way (yes, the dog is actually a bitch, or to put it nicely, she is a girl-dog). So the battle of wills commences…

At first Dog approaches Husband in a casual manner.

Dog:’Daddy, why don’t we share your dinner?’

Husband: ‘I don’t think so.’

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Then it becomes more forceful. Dog: ‘Come Dad, don’t be selfish! Look at me, you bugger!’

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Slowly it transforms into blatant begging. ‘Daddy, daddy, spare me a chunk of beef! Pleeeeaaase… I’ll love you forever!’

Husband: ‘Go away, Dog! It’s MY dinner!’ As an only-child, Husband is unfamiliar with the idea of sharing his property.

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Finally Dog adopts a new approach. She begins to look rather faint and dizzy.

Dog: ‘Daddy, I fear I may faint … I’m starving… If I don’t make it, Daddy, you can have my toy bone. If only I got a morsel off your plate, I could just make it…’

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Husband won’t surrender his dinner. It’s a matter of life or death for him. For both of them. But that’s only until the last crumb is polished off the pate. Then they are friends all over again.

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Ghost in the shower

We didn’t put two and two together when, five months ago, our shower room was flooded due to someone plugging in the sink plughole and turning on the taps in the wee hours of the night. We blamed each other. Everyone shouted and swore innocence, and no one believed any of the other two. Of course, we didn’t have a clue that it was the Ghost.

A couple of nights ago the Ghost returned to haunt the shower room. It clearly has a huge problem with that particular room in the house. This time, he (or she) turned considerably more violent and punched the shower door. It was 3am when glass shattered and spluttered to the floor, sending us all into a state of panic.

Clever Ghost, managed to utterly annihilate one glass wall but left the parallel shower door intact.

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That experience was marginally more unnerving that the flood, but again we blamed unspecified vibrations and an old house inadequacies on this unfortunate development. So the following night the Ghost attempted to paint the bathroom door white. He (or she) didn’t do a half-decent job of it so we washed the paint off.

Now, I’m not one for believing in ghosts, especially if they choose my home for their antics, but the damage to the property is a touch too much! How on earth are we going to explain this ghostly invasion to our Insurer?

Did I mention that our home is located in the middle of a lovely and, until now, peaceful graveyard?

Introducing Mango, the dog

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Mango has been rescued from a kill shelter in the depths of Romania by a bunch of enthusiasts from Trowbridge. She is now part of our family, or what she would say: a member of our wolf pack.

Chewing on everything and anything that moves (or stays still) she has grown over the two months of living with us and now takes up much more space than originally. Unfortunately, she has eaten her bed so her time is spent under Daughter’s piano stool:

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I appear to be the pack leader (in Mango’s eyes); Husband and Daughter are just gang members, and they get trampled over, jumped upon and chewed at the ankles. All is good (until Husband decides to put his foot down).

Mango and I bonding before bed:

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Ageing disgracefully and with style — Anna Legat Author (my alter ego)

I put on the skates, and I am a little girl again: eight or ten at the most. The blades of my skates slice through the ice. I can hear a clank and a swoosh, the wind in my pompom, cheeks burning, cold air in my nostrils, expelled in rapid vapours, forming frosty droplets on […]

via Ageing disgracefully and with style — Anna Legat Author

Did I say how cool I was?

For the first time in history, I am my daughter’s hero!

We went skating. Long childhood memories buried under the ice have come to the surface and I flew across the rink. Daughter was impressed. ‘You’re the only one who could skate backwards,’ she said, ‘and swirl!’

Respect!

My services have now been enlisted to teach Daughter something she actually wants to learn from me. We’ve found common ground between us, even if it is slightly icy.

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Daughter’s first steps on ice.

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Mother, the heroic back-paddling swirler!

Getting bruised in Devon

With the best of intentions I organised this PGL adventure. I could still pretend that it was for my child more than myself. All that childish stuff of climbing walls, throwing yourself off rocks, competing to the top of Jacob’s ladder against fifteen-year old boys and their alpha-male dads  – all that would be just perfect for Daughter and Daughter’s Friend. Whilst this year the girls are just into face-painting, next year next year they will be into make-up, Prada handbags and designer shoes (oh dear! there go my life savings!). It was our last chance to do the  child-friendly thing.

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It may have been child-friendly but, by Gods, it was far from a woman of a certain age-friendly! I suffered from general exhaustion, pulled muscles, bruises and torn ligaments. On top of that some viral infection took hold of me and shook me like a pitbull terrier shaking a rag doll.

Back home, I’m licking my wounds and promising myself to go on a Mediterranean cruise next year.

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Rum-tum-tiddle-um-um

Just as I was beginning to think that the world had come to a sticky end (and I didn’t mean that to involve a pot of HUNEY), this arrived with the pigeon post:

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My lovely and irreplaceable husband made it for our 5th anniversary!

The world can’t so bad if there is a Monkey Lane somewhere out there! I am a happy bunny again, hopping on one leg and munching on chocolate leaves.

Big Monkey and Theodore have not been hurt in the making of this card, so I am told.

 

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