Sunday, April 29, 2007

party time

dear readers, i am worn out. herself decided that it would be a good idea to have a birthday party. this was not just for her but for himself, whose birthday is a week after hers. then she also roped in two other friends as well who are also april babes.

himself was not at all keen on the party idea. "loads of people will come to the house!" he wailed. "we will have to talk to them!" "that is the whole point of parties," said herself impatiently, "people come to your house and you talk to them. if you are really organised you have food and wine too. sometimes there is even dancing!"

preparations were ongoing for some time. the new pond was finished, lights and candles were put around the garden and huge amounts of food were made. catering was made a little trickier because herself had failed to keep track of who she had invited, and then even worse had failed to keep track of which people couldn't come. she went out and purchased a large salmon to poach. the first time she said she was going to poach a salmon i was all ready with my swimming trunks but it would appear that poaching is a cooking method rather than a way of saving money. she came back with not only a salmon but also a selection of lights. these included some rather nifty purple numbers shaped like flowers which she explained had solar lights in them. these were to float on the pond. "god, those are really vulgar!" said himself. he has become rather pretentious where the pond is concerned, particularly as he is what is known as a "hairy-arsed pompey fan".

the pond is supposed to be zen. this means calm and tranquil. my boy has been doing his best to prevent calm and tranquility settling into the pond. as soon as it was full he had his swimming trunks on and was swimming around in it. then a gaudy plastic pirate ship was launched. then the remote controlled hovercraft did a few speedy turns. "its more like butlins than tibet!" said himself.

the party approached. herself sat in the garden having her toenails painted red by her young friend. having your toenails painted seems to me a smart move. you cannot walk for ages while they dry so you have to issue orders and be waited on hand and foot which suits herself down to the ground. the young friend's boyfriend put hair gel on herself's hair in a vain effort to make her look more like a lurcher. mrs captain arrived with the most beautiful cake. i was placed on my lead and for a brief moment thought i was going to get a walk. but no. it was merely to stop me eating all the food. i cannot see why they could not spare a bit when there was so much but i did at least get to be stroked quite a lot by some very nice people including a very lovely autistic girl with wonderfully flappy hands.

candles were lit, including some that floated rather tastefully on the pond. music played. wine flowed and food was munched. my boy and his minder ( a usefully tall person who was able to fix things up without a ladder) started filming. "i am making a horror film." said my boy. "no ketchup!" warned herself. as i have said before, beefburger people take things literally. it was therefore no surprise to anyone when my boy's mate was intercepted up to his elbows in salsa. "its for blood!" he explained (herself had failed to list all possible types of food that could be used for special effects and the young folks had therefore found an alternative to ketchup). most of the young folks present were on the autistic spectrum. this seems to be a common feature with the peeps' friends. i suppose it makes it easier not having to explain why my boy has his head inside the washing machine and other oddities.

darkness fell. the horror film got darker too. suddenly my boy let out a shriek. "its on fire!" he yelled. people converged on the pond. it was indeed on fire. this could only happen to us. water is not supposed to catch fire. on closer examination it appeared that it was not the water that had caught fire but one of the vulgar lilies with solar lights in. one of the more intellectual guests commented that it reminded him of a viking longboat on its way to valhalla. my boy leapt into action and sploshed water onto the conflagration. this propelled it under a large and inflammable looking palm. "oh shit!" said my boy. he is not allowed to swear but as he was engaged in saving the peeps from homelessness if the house burnt down herself pretended not to hear. further sploshing put out the flames and order was restored.

this was not the end of the pyrotechnics for the evening. my boy has a particularly wild friend who has no sense of danger. while the peeps backs were turned the friend showed my boy a rather scary trick which involved filling your hand with gas from a lighter and opening it to show a flaming palm. herself took a dim view of the young folks being anywhere near a lighter, especially as the house is made of wood. they were made to sit quietly at the computer where they busied themselves setting fire to the sim people's kitchen.

the final guests left at 2.30am by which time i was ready for my pit. the peeps still haven't finished the clearing up. this is in part due to herself reading a book from cover to cover in between throwing cans and bottles into bags and himself sitting on the sofa watching football. my boy has been editing his horror movie which will shortly be released to the world. and in case you are wondering what the picture is - it is the melted vulgar lily...

Friday, April 27, 2007


here you can see me in mrs prof's car. it is a special type of car which not only goes very fast but also has wide seats. this is useful for mrs prof as she has quite a wide stern. there was quite a lot of debate about what sort of car mrs prof should get. "has to be an audi tt" said herself, who drives a much inferior sort of audi. "i can't drive one of those!" said mrs prof, "they are hairdresser's cars!" i am not sure where she got this idea from. the hair slayer who comes to shear my peeps drives a renault. mrs prof decided to do some research. she very quickly narrowed the field down to a handful of cars. most fast cars, it seems, have very narrow seats.

herself is someone who rather likes fast cars. she has never really got over an addiction to speed in spite of not having owned a motorbike for many years. a while ago she blagged a roadtest in a lotus elise. this was courtesy of a newspaper that was doing a series where readers got to roadtest cars. as herself at the time drove a saab the newspaper decided to get her to road test a fast car. however, they did not ask herself what sort of fast car she would like to drive. herself, like mrs prof, does not have a narrow stern. the lotus had a very narrow seat. herself's verdict was pretty damning. "there is nowhere to put your shopping, or your dog, and there isn't even a sun visor so you can do your lippy!" she said. "and you can't get in and out without showing your knickers! and it isn't even all that fast! "

the road test was a source of much mirth to everyone. herself would ring up barristers' chambers in london and the clerks would say they had seen it. she had posed for the photo outside the gates of her friend's posh house so people thought she lived in a mansion. her friend from law school, who regularly pretends he is buying cars just to take them for a drive, laughed like a drain.

mrs prof in the end bought an audi tt, no doubt remembering the road test. the tt is quite wonderful. sometimes mrs prof takes me for a ride in it and the wind in my fur is just the business. she ties my lead to the car in case we go past any deer and i forget myself and leap out.

mrs prof is very generous with the tt. she even lets herself drive it. although i have to say she may not do so quite so readily after the trip to the garden centre. this was during the pond-digging day. various people had come along, including a friend who used to be a gravedigger and who therefore has great digging skills. mrs prof has helped the peeps to dig a number of ponds over the years and therefore was let off the hook after an hour or so to go with herself to purchase a fountain. they trundled round the garden centre and eventually settled on which one they were going to buy. the man brought the fountain in a box to the place where you pay. it has to be said this was quite a large box. "ooh, er!" said mrs prof, "i hope it fits in the car!"

as herself was driving, mrs prof had to hold the box on her lap. it protruded above the windscreen by at least a foot. things were going reasonably well until herself put her foot down. the wind caught the box and pinned mrs prof beneath it. "slow down!" came a muffled voice which, luckily for their friendship, herself heard.

mrs prof has just got back from germany. she had not mentioned this little jaunt beforehand. it appears it was on the spur of the moment. mrs prof's son, the extreme programmer, wanted to see how fast the tt would go. mrs prof did not take much persuading. in germany there are no speed limits on the autobahns so it was the obvious place for this venture. "so how fast did you get it to go?" asked herself. "well, we couldn't find a wide enough autobahn to go really fast" said mrs prof, "we could only find the two lane ones".

dear readers, mrs prof has a degree in geography. the extreme programmer has just started work for a worldwide internet company. yet between them they could not find a wide enough autobahn. i despair.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007


herself got home from work last night very tired. they have had some pretty upsetting cases at work lately and herself is not always that good at taking her mind off the damaged and disturbed folks she comes across. so she was looking forward to flopping down in front of the telly and watching nonsense.

"mummy" said my boy "i need some trunks!" dear readers, this is not tree trunks or indeed elephants trunks, but swimming trunks. by now the shops were shut. "we'll get some at the weekend" said herself. "i need them tonight" said my boy. it would appear that he had a lesson called swimmity at school and had to have trunks. "what is wrong with your old trunks?" asked herself, wanly. "they are way too small" explained my boy. it has to be said that he has had the old trunks a long time. but then he only grows up rather than out.

"it is way too late to buy trunks now" said herself. "we can get them from the leisure centre" said my boy, with his indefatigable logic, "they are open late." "how will we know that they sell them? asked herself, in desperation. "we can phone them up!" he said. "great idea, give them a ring" said herself. "i can't ring them, i have no social skills!" said my boy. once herself had stopped laughing she got the phone and discovered that trunks were indeed available at the leisure centre.

my boy was duly measured and it was ascertained that he was indeed very skinny. off they went with the tape measure to buy the trunks. there were many pairs of trunks, most of which would have fallen down and caused severe embarrassment. but eventually a pair was found which were suitable. "i need goggles too" said my boy. so goggles were purchased as well. my boy wore them in the car on the way home. "you look like someone in one of those vintage cars with no roof" said herself. so each time they went past a car my boy whipped off the goggles. however he was persuaded to pose for the camera...

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

we love short shorts

herself is decidedly grumpy in the mornings at the moment. this is because himself and my boy are on holiday and she has to go to work. so she sets them a list of tasks each day to make sure they don't enjoy themselves too much. if they are left to their own devices they sit in my boy's room in the dark playing computer games. if herself happens to come home early and catch them at this before they have picked up hoovers and brooms to pretend they are doing housework, they are soundly berated. "you are a pair of trolls!" she says. i have to say this is accurate. from what i understand of trolls they live under bridges or in caves in the dark and grunt whenever anyone approaches. when herself is describing the activities of the trolls to mrs prof in an e-mail she differentiates them by referring to himself as "big troll" or bt, and my boy as "little troll" or lt.

today's task was to take my boy to have his feet measured and get him some new shoes. this used to be something of a nightmare. my boy would not let the shoe shop person near his feet to measure them. beefburger people have very sensitive feet. there would follow negotiations that would put the united nations to shame. "you can have some bribery" herself would say in desperation, while the shoe shop person would look on thinking my boy was badly brought up and just needed a sound thrashing rather than simply being a beefburger person. "how much?" my boy would ask. "a mars bar" herself would venture. "can i have one for each foot?" my boy would counter.

these days it is a bit easier but my boy still manages to extract some benefit for having new shoes. you would think not having sore toes would be enough but what do i know? i only have paws. today my boy said "can i have some shorts?" he has grown considerably since the last shorts were purchased so this was not entirely unreasonable. himself and my boy ventured into millets, which for my overseas readers', or perhaps reader's, benefit i must explain is a shop which sells tents and shorts, among other things.

they could not find shorts. "you will have to ask someone" said my boy. "i'm not doing that!" said himself, exhibiting a very trolly streak. "conquer your fear!" said my boy, loudly. the assistant, who was nearby looked round at them. needless to say himself did not conquer his fear. back out in the street my boy remonstrated, loudly. "you just want to be back home in the dark playing computer games!" he squawked. quite a few people looked round. himself hates being looked at. it is a feature of trolls. he hustled my boy home, still muttering.

so why the picture? well, from this you can see that my boy is genetically pre-disposed to short-wearing. himself wears shorts in the most inappropriate situations. once when shopping in november herself refused to walk round with him unless he hid his shorts behind the trolley. herself says this is because himself is also a beefburger person. i must say i have my suspicions....

Thursday, April 05, 2007

an unholy fuss

hello dear readers! i can only apologise for the long silence. i wonder if i have any readers left! even my most loyal fans must have become frustrated by the lack of musings. it is entirely herself's fault. as you know i have to rely on her to do the typing and it has been impossible to interest her in my blog of late. some of this has been because she has been busy but that is not uncommon. the main problem is that she has been doleful. however the wonderful doctor has increased her dose of happy pills and she is back to her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self. (she does not really have a tail, nor indeed particularly bright eyes but i occasionally allow myself the luxury of a saying or two).

what has been occurring in the interim, i hear you ask. well, among other things she has built a barbecue. those who have been paying attention will know that the plan was for himself to build the barbecue as he has a degree in architecture and a building diploma. however, this proved an unsuccessful plan. by the time he had mixed the first bag of cement himself was looking decidedly feeble. so herself stepped in and attacked the bricks.

herself could not be described as a perfectionist. however, to give her her due, she got out the spirit level and waved it in the general direction of the bricks and so the masterpiece grew and grew until it was finished. this weekend is the grand opening and we will see if it actually works.

last week the peeps went to a concert. mrs captain sings in a choir. she has a truly beautiful voice. the concert was in a church and the peeps went along with the captain and some other friends to watch. the people running the concert had clearly heard of my boy and his mates and guided the peeps to the upstairs bit of the church out of harms way. my boy proceeded to conduct a survey of the audience below. "there are 87 old people and 51 bald people. some of the bald people are women!" he announced in his usual dulcet tones. the acoustics of the church meant that this echoed rather more than you would think possible.

at the interval there were refreshments downstairs in the cloisters. the peeps queued up. my boy and his mate slunk off to the loo. they were gone rather longer than it takes to have a tinkle. suddenly my boy rushed through the large crowd of people waiting to buy drinks. "that bastard vicar!" he shouted. everyone looked round. herself tried to melt into the floor but it was made of very hard stone so instead she focused on trying to calm my boy and find out what had happened. "we were only looking" protested my boy. after some deft cross-examination he was forced to admit that he and his mate had been trying to make a phone call when the vicar had come along and said "how dare you!" this is the same vicar who my boy grills every time he meets him about in an effort to prove that god does not exist. the vicar is by all accounts a saint in his patient explanations to my boy about how that is the whole point of faith.

herself found it hard to picture the benevolent vicar being so harsh if my boy's account was accurate. however the second half was starting and the peeps had to get the young folks under control. throughout the whole of the second half my boy muttered about how he was going to kill the vicar. beefburger people can take things to heart.

it was not until several days later, after exhaustive forensic questioning, that the full story emerged. my boy and his mate had gone into an office somewhere in the depths of the church and had been trying to make phone calls to god. they had also found a public address system. my boy's mate had shouted into the public address system: "get out, you're all going to die!"

fortunately for my boy and his mate the public address system was not switched on. in the heat of the moment the audience would not have had time to reflect on the accuracy of this statement. clearly we are all going to die at some point. the 87 old people and 51 bald people and all of the hairy young people would have assumed that the voice was god. it is unlikely that they would have paused to consider that god would perhaps not have a new zealand accent. nor indeed that god might have a deeper voice, given his long white beard.

ho hum. i'm glad i stayed at home...