Week 32: Thomas!

GT (Girl Teenager), dressed in a leopard-print onesie, is tending Milo the Mad (the Spaniel puppo) whilst I am pottering about in the kitchen poaching eggs for breakfast. The sun is out and things are feeling on the up after a challenging few weeks of lack of sleep and dealing with brown deposits that the canine Mr Whippy has been turning out.

I hear the french doors open in the Sitting Room, or should I say Milo‘s Room as that is where he is kept. ”Just letting Milo out for a wee, Dad” calls GT.

Good, this means that Milo has learned not to wee in his room. Now for the rest of the house.

Suddenly Milo appears on the patio, hammering around the (now covered) sofa and table set for all he is worth. For a three month old fella, he is bloody nippy. Then GT appears, attempting to run (she doesn’t do running) after him to catch him, for all the world looking like a cross between a leopard and a newly born baby giraffe. They hurtle around the back of the furniture, to reappear with the cat in the lead, pegging it as fast as his 11 year old, overweight frame will allow. “Milo. Stop! Milo!” GT is panting as they enter the second lap. GT is starting to drop back as Milo begins to gain on the poor cat as the third lap gets underway. At this point the cat clearly remembers that he can Climb Things and lumbers up on to the trellis that lines the edge of the patio, leaving his waggy-arsed pursuer to bounce up and down at the foot of the post, delighted with the fun he and his new playmates have had. GT? Passed out through unparalleled exertion.

As if not to be outdone, an hour later I’m in the kitchen once more, when the cat flops in through the cat-flap, making that noise that he makes when he has Brought In A Present. Shit! The cat‘s bought in a live mouse! Shit! He‘s dropped it. Shit! The dog has bundled into the kitchen to see what all the noise is about? And so dear chums, the second Great Chase of the day commenced, only this time it was me lunging for the dog whilst the cat chased the mouse around the Kitchen table. I tell you, if I was wearing a pinnie and tights, shouting “Thomas!”, you would think we were a live re-enactment of a Tom & Jerry cartoon.

The good news is that I got to the dog before he got to the cat. The mouse - he wasn’t so lucky.

Bloody hell is this what my life has become? Writing about animal chases? It’s hard to reconcile the man I am now with the Exec level sort of fella I was only eight months ago. I like this life quite a lot better though, so cat and dog chases it is.

That‘s not to say that bringing up a puppy is all fun. He is unbearably cute, and essentially a very good natured chap, but it is sooooo hard in the early stages. I’m pleased to say that we’ve seen a lot of change in him this week for the better as he learns, but sadly that hasn‘t stopped yours truly from being a Grumpy Old Sod. Gin, so called as it’s easier than typing Mrs Tanqueray each week, has seriously considered sleeping at school to avoid Mr Happy At Home. I’m not good at feeling trapped indoors and am somewhat ashamed to have been Letting Everyone Know. Anyway, after a stern self-talking too, things are now a bit better, very much helped by Milo being allowed out, post injections, for walks and visits. I’ve also been heartened by the help with the hound from GT and BT (Boy Teenager), which was made a big difference.

GT has had a Bit of a Week too. She is a strongly individual lady, dresses in her own (goth-like) style and expects people to be as inclusive and tolerant as she is. It’s come as quite a surprise to find that, despite being at a very good college which treats its students in a very adult way, some of the rich, entitled kids are Gammons-in-training (lets call them Rashers). A small handful of Rashers have been abusive towards her and some friends, whilst also demonstrating that they‘ve absorbed some of their parents’ values when it comes to other's differences. It’s probably a good life-lesson for GT as the one thing that is certain is that at some point in future she will have to deal with an Entitled Arse, so may as well find out now that it’s not worth getting in a dudge about.

What else? Ah yes, having said that I would never set foot in a Brexitspoons pub because of the conduct of the chain’s boss (what’s his name? Looks like Wurzel Gummidge. Behaves like Machiavelli. You know him, Tim something or other? Doesn’t believe in furloughing when you can fire people cheaply? Yes, him.), I spent a couple of hours in one with one of my oldest mates during the week. He lives in a beautiful, Edwardian house a mile up the road from us. A big old rambling pile, surrounded by other big, old rambling piles. Or at least, it used to be. He was telling me a tale of big, old rambling piles being bought up, knocked down, and replaced by flats, which seems to be a mission of Croydon council. Swing forward a couple of days, and Milo and I have walked down our road to number 7. We’ve gone down there because Milo’s food for the month has been delivered there by a Yodel driver who apparently can‘t tell the difference between a 7 and a 9. I’ve discovered this because he uploaded to the Yodel tracking site a photo of the parcel being “left in Safe Place”. In front of the front door, which has two 7s on it. And the letter-box is boarded up. The reason the letter box is boarded up is because the old fella that lived there passed away last year. It doesn’t look very Lived In any longer. It makes you wonder at Yodel’s recruitment policy. Can’t see? You’ll do for us, pal.

Anyway, just after we returned with Milo's dinner, there was an exchange on our road's WhatsApp group (set up in Lockdown in case anyone needed help) about a Yodel parcel that had been mis-delivered. I mention my parcel being delivered to the empty house, and the discussion turned to the rights and (mostly) wrongs of it being bought by developers to replace it with a modest set of flats are to be built there. This is news to me, which is something of a surprise given that the soon to be ex-house is our immediate neighbour. The creeping Croydon planning tide has extended a mile further down the road it would seem.

The nicest bit of the week though was BT having the opportunity to introduce Milo to Nana and Pops (whose slippers he tried to eat) when they came over for tea, and to Grandad, Big Barry and BT’s Kevin (cousin - we call them the Kevin’s following a mis-pronunciation many years back), Boo (not her real name, obvs). They loved Milo. Milo loved them. BT loved showing his puppo off to the family. That alone is worth the lack of sleep and pooper-scooping.

And so we each the end of another week and another rambling blog. I wonder what week 33 will bring? Let‘s hope that the good folk of the Boroughs of Croydon and Sutton continue to follow the rules so that we can continue to go out or stay in (in groups of 6).

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

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