Strange how things can affect us, coming out of the ether like an arrow and reducing you to a bit of a wreck. Bringing memories and loss into your heart so savagely it takes away your breath. I watched this happen to The Boss the other day when he was busy doing some mundane job in the kitchen (it wasn’t getting me any tuck, because that I would have remembered).
Suddenly he’s busy wiping eyes, talking to his Chris and looking at me with sad eyes. How can I be expected to answer him when he’s asking me “why?” Even I am not that clever.
Fair do’s, he soon was giving me hugs and I had a couple of bits of rather tasty cheese, bless him. but not French, he still refuses me Brie de Meaux or Epoisses the miserable so and so. It appears he thinks these have a negative reaction on me, but I would welcome the chance to check it out. (Something about wind but I don’t know what he could possibly mean)
He left me again last week – I’m worried this is getting to be a bit of a habit – but when he came back, lo and behold, Robert was with him. They’d been to see The Waterboys. Very good they told me, and they were very amused by the guy next to them who appeared to only know one song – “Whole of the Moon” – all night. He went all loopy when it was played. Rob referred him as a “one album fan”.
The Boss gave the tv a haranguing again as he watched the politicians reporting about Brexit. I’m sick of Brexit, don’t know about you. Why don’t they just get on with it, I say. Maybe they should just call it off. My worry is that if he decides to take me to Europe with him, I may not be able to get back in the country. All seems a bit scary to me.
I must be honest, he’s taken me out to the pub a couple of times this week. Over to Malvern to see Libby & Lottie, they are a lively pair but they don’t bother me and so I always enjoy their company. The pub had lots of small dogs in that day, so I adopted my superior stance, looked very smug and pompous, and remained firmly by the Master’s side laying on the bench whilst the little tykes all had to stay grounded. He did provide the odd chip and a bit of steak pie, so I assumed he thought I was behaving ok. I’m beginning to enjoy adopting the role of “stately older chap”, I feel it quite suits me.
The next day we had a couple of hours in the local Mug House pub with his mate Steve. Lovely bloke but he’s dangerous! Very dangerous! But, speaking honestly, he does treat me as an equal so he must be quite on the ball. My main man always has too many beers when he meets Steve at the pub, but in his defence he is generous with the crisps. I needed a gallon of water on my return home to quench my salty thirst, Him Indoors really needed a bucket of water over him to prevent him entering a comatose state for several hours.
He started on about Trump again this morning. Actually, not really about Trump – I think he reckons he’s a deranged front-man for far more sinister forces that lurk behind him. People like this bloke Bannon, who used to work for Trump, but has now gone off back to his old job at Breitbart (wtf?). He now apparently is causing mayhem by funding candidates for the senate or congress (I don’t know which, America confuses me a lot) who make even Trump look lightweight!!! I can’t wait to see the results of that, I’m sure you can’t either! Presumably they will not be satisfied with just bombing North Korea, they will want to bomb the rest of the planet to fucking destruction!
I’m told we’re going to have a quiet weekend. This can only lead to trouble. He will get bored, start texting or phoning, and within minutes he’ll be opening bottles of wine with some of his lovely friends and I will be shoved off my settee. It all seems nice but what about my comforts? Ah well, I bet there is a bit of steak or duck ending up my way.
Woof! Woof!
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