coca

last night my boy announced at 9pm that he needed cookery ingredients for today. regular readers will know that this is not unusual. my boy has poor organisational skills. he blames these on his autism. i blame them on herself. he has her genes. she could not organise her way out of a paper bag.

"i need flour, and sugar and butter and an egg and cocoa!" said my boy. "where are we going to find cocoa at this time of night?" said himself, in something of a flap. "don't worry" said herself, they will have a bit of spare cocoa for the kids who forget. some of them are from homes where they can't get it together to get the ingredients together so they always have spare."

i am not sure why herself was so confident about this. i suspect it is because of when she was at school. from what i hear it sounds as though her family spent more time in the kitchen throwing things at each other than lovingly packing up the cookery ingredients.

however it would appear that things have changed. when herself got home, after a particularly tough day, she asked my boy "how did cookery go?" "i had to make savoury biscuits" he replied. "why?" asked herself. "because i didn't have any cocoa." "but you had sugar - what happened to the sugar?" "i think i gave it to someone" he said. "brilliant!" said herself, always looking on the bright side, "we can have them with cheese!"

the peeps went into the bedroom so my boy could not hear their conversation. "is it me?" said herself, "do they not have a single bit of cocoa in the school for someone with inadequate parents and poor organisational skills? don't they even have some in the staff room for the teachers?" "maybe they are trying to teach him to remember things," said himself.

it has to be said that incandescent didn't really describe it. herself feels slights on her parenting rather keenly. she also takes the view that if you want to teach an autistic person something like - remember the cocoa next time - you say to them "remember the cocoa next time" and for good measure write it on their forehead or their planner or somewhere. you do not say "if you don't have cocoa you will have to make savoury biscuits" as this does not really make the point.

she grabbed her bag and pulled out a document. "this is what i have been doing for the last two days!" she said, "this is why i failed to be perfect enough to have some cocoa hidden at the back of my wardrobe for just such an eventuality!" himself took the document. it was a court order closing down a crack house for 3 months. herself spent most of yesterday drafting papers and statements and sorting out getting this case into court. "these people are horrible violent thugs!" she said. "they ran over a toddler in a pram with their motorbike and broke her nose. they tried to cut off someone's head with a samurai sword. they have been shooting cats and cars. they have been having fights with knives in the street. they have the whole neighbourhood so terrified that no-one will report anything to the police. this is why i don't have any cocoa!"

himself looked at the document. "why does it refer to nottinghamshire police?" he ventured. we are nowhere near nottinghamshire. herself had a look. the court clerk had made a mistake and used a document from somewhere else. herself got on the phone. it seems that this can be sorted out easily and a new order will be prepared for placing on the shuttered up property.

herself rang the inspector to let him know. "oh blimey!" he said, "i hope it didn't come out in the photographs!" i should explain that the local paper had come along when herself and a policeman had fixed the order to the house and had taken pictures. after a call to the paper it appears that all is well. the photos will not be that detailed. so there will not be questions of the local police as to why they are policing nottinghamshire when they are so thinly spread round here.

"well at least some good came of the cocoa shortage!" said herself.

and why, i hear you ask, is this post called coca? has the venerable lurcher forgotten how to use a spell check? no, dear reader, coca is what they make cocaine from. and cocaine is what they make crack from. so it is a sort of pun. although not a particularly good one...

work

my boy is off school this friday. he has what is known as an insect day. this is where the teachers have to learn all about insects so the children stay at home and wreck the house. usually when he has an insect day one of the peeps stays off work. this week herself has too much going on so she has to work at home. working at home is good as i get some company and also she gets to catch up on the huge amount of washing that builds up.

this week it may be a problem. herself gets things called junctions which stop the naughty people from being naughty. this week one of the naughty people did not believe that the junction meant anything. he carried on being naughty. one of the police people said they would just have to get herself to "kick his sorry arse" which i think is police-speak for taking him to court. at least i hope so. since she snapped her achilles tendon it is not a good idea for her to be kicking anything, least of all something unhygenic. the taking to court thing may have to happen on friday.

anyway, if my boy is at home there may be difficulties in the sorry-arse-kicking. my boy is not the sort of character that can be left quietly outside the court with a colouring book. if my boy is left for even a few minutes he will have moved the court from yellow alert to red alert in the time it takes to dismantle a water-cooler. however, as always, sgt goose had the answer. "we can always take him down the pier!" he said. the idea of my boy playing on the slot machines with a police escort is truly wonderful....

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...

ttfn

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.

swimming

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...

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....

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...

thor lip

the last couple of days have been full of adventure, even by the standards of my peeps. yesterday herself went to see the queen. to prepare for the visit, she decided she would need to practice curtsying in case she had to curtsy. no-one seemed to know how to do this. herself knows how to bow as she does this when she is grovelling round judges. she also had to bow when she did taekwondo, although the less said about taekwondo the better, especially in front of her achilles tendon.

as luck would have it, herself had cause to speak to someone she knows who is a member of the aristocracy. this conversation unfortunately took place just after the queen's visit was over. as it turned out the queen had no interest in meeting herself anyway so it did not matter. the member of the aristocracy said "oh its easy. you just put one foot behind the other, bend down a bit and then you fall over." so maybe just as well curtsying was not called for, or the other achilles could have copped it as well.

after not meeting the queen herself and her assistant were walking back to the car. as they reached the end of the road, a car roared up, swerved into a side road and narrowly missed a blind woman, a guide dog and 4 very small children. herself shot across the road and shrieked at the driver, leaving no stone unturned in bringing him to a realisation of his folly. he roared off equally quickly, no doubt with burning ears. little does he know that herself and her assistant have no intention of leaving things there.

the subsequent reporting to the police and ranting and raving made herself late for the hairdresser yet again. i fear that herself is going to get the sack. our hairdresser (or hairslayer as my boy calls her) comes round and does a mass shearing of the peeps and the friends round the corner. she is a truly saintly lady and has put up with my boy and his evil temper about haircuts ("i wish they had never invented hairdressers!") for years.

this evening herself came home from work breathing a sigh of relief that the week was over. later on mrs captain called and asked if my boy would like to come to play. off went herself and my boy. no sooner had they got in the door than the captain was regaling her with details of his malaria. it seems he has been somewhere hot. it was decided that the captain just had a touch of man-malaria and mrs captain and herself sat down to watch the young folks bouncing on the trampoline.

shortly afterwards my boy's friend started pulling faces, pointing at my boy and clutching his stomach. my boy's friend is something of a prankster so herself at first thought this was a joke. but it appeared not. herself shot out to see what had happened. my boy was bleeding from his mouth and clutching his stomach. herself, as my readers would already know, is good in a crisis. however, where my boy is concerned she has to try very hard not to scream. he has not bled since he fell on a flint when he was 3. this particular bleeding scenario did not look too good. as soon as my boy could speak he was able to say that it was only his lip and that his friend had not landed on him and given him horrific internal injuries, which calmed herself considerably.

my boy was given an ice cube to suck and after a fair bit of spitting blood was persuaded to partake of crunched up paracetamol mixed up in jam. things settled down and the time came for herself and my boy to head for home. a grocery delivery was expected and herself wanted to head off the bill before himself saw it. himself is not all that good at handling deliveries.

mrs captain did not want herself to leave. "you don't care - i'm just blog-fodder to you!" she cried. to which herself, rather heartlessly, in my opinion, replied "thats perfect, i'll put that in the blog!" if i had been mrs captain i would have resorted to one of herself's favourite sayings, namely "i rest my case!" but at this moment my boy came into the room. his lip by now was quite large. "oh crap!" he said, "i can't say pith off any more!"

this reminded herself of the time when my boy's front teeth had come out. this coincided with his obsession with fluorescent lights. he had been mightily upset when he could no longer say striplight. "thriplight!" "friplight!" he would say, getting more cross with each attempt.

he will just have to think of new expletives for the duration. i hope he doesn't take any lessons from mrs captain...

stoned

well, dear readers, this weekend has not been entirely relaxing. it boded well. mrs prof was coming to visit and there were plans for chilling out.

on saturday afternoon herself and my boy went off to their club with mrs captain, the wild girl and my boy's friend. they had no sooner got in mrs captain's car and set off for home when mrs captain grabbed her side and shrieked in pain. at this point they were approaching a level crossing. i should point out that mrs captain was driving. herself grabbed the wheel and steered the car into a side road and then into the curb. by this time mrs captain was in agony. but being a bit of a stalwart she said "i'm ok, its just a twinge" (herself later related that this was a twinge that looked considerably worse than childbirth). herself managed to persuade mrs captain that driving in this state was rather foolhardy and that she should take over. mrs captain pulled herself round to the passenger seat and with a bit of help was heaved in. having removed mrs captain from the driving seat herself insisted that accident and emergency was the only place they were going, in spite of protestations from mrs captain that she would be fine.

there then followed what sounds like a hair-raising bit of driving even by herself's standards. mrs captain has a rather large vehicle which would seat a football team. herself has not until now been allowed to take the helm. this did not prevent her tripping at least 2 speed cameras and cutting up various irate people on roundabouts in the rush to get to the hospital. as she did not have her handsfree ear thingy my boy and his friend were instructed to firstly telephone himself to say he had to get to a&e pronto and then to telephone a&e and to explain that a large vehicle would shortly arrive and disgorge a doubled-up mrs captain, 3 autistic children and herself.

at a&e the young folk were dispatched to find a wheelchair. the wild girl is nothing if not single-minded. she rushed straight into the bit where people get stitched up without a word to the receptionist, grabbed the nearest wheelchair (which might well have belonged to someone who had popped into the loo) and came back with it at a run. mrs captain on reflection decided that the bending to get into the wheelchair might be even more painful so she limped in on foot. the 3 young folks were given strict instructions by herself to stay close and keep quiet.

once they were booked in they settled down to wait for himself to arrive. the young folks eyed the other customers. herself eyed the young folks, nervously awaiting a loud and inappropriate comment about someone's injuries. these beefburger people tend to behave rather inappropriately when under stress. soon himself arrived and removed the young folk. luckily mrs prof was staying so she could keep them quiet while he watched the rest of the rather important football match that he was in the middle of.

then the triage nurse called mrs captain. this was so she could see whether she should be kept waiting all night or whether she might only have to wait a couple of hours. this seems to depend on how much you are bleeding on the floor, and whether you look as though you might collapse.

mrs captain came back with a large jug in a plastic bag. "i have to do a sample" she whispered. "i will have to carry this jug full of wee all the way round in front of all these people back to the nurse!" "don't worry" said herself "you can borrow my handbag to carry the jug in. just don't spill loads of wee in it". herself is rather loud, even at low volume. several people turned to look in amazement at this plan.

mrs captain limped off to the very public toilet. some time later she emerged, gingerly carrying the bag. she shuffled round to the nurse. "what can i do for you?" said the nurse. "i've brought my sample" said mrs captain. the nurse looked puzzled. mrs captain retrieved the jug from the depths of herself's handbag. the nurse was obviously lost for words at such ingenuity.

they settled down to wait some more. eventually mrs captain was taken to see the doctor. she was asked to put on a rather small gown (mrs captain is a lady of rubenesque proportions). soon a doctor arrived. after examining mrs captain he asked an unnatural amount of questions about bowel movements and other things best kept quiet about. then he said "is there any chance you might be pregnant?"

"f**k!!!" said mrs captain in her best and loudest new zealand twang. mrs captain can be very feirce. the curtains round the cubicle shook. the doctor took a step backwards and went a bit pale. even herself was rather taken aback and she is used to mrs captain's ways. (it turned out later that mrs captain had thought the doctor had said that she actually was pregnant). she explained to the doctor that the captain had taken steps to prevent such an occurrence. thus reassured the doctor sent mrs captain for x-rays. eventually the doctor came back. "i think you have either passed a kidney stone or you have gallstones" he said "there are no kidney stones on your x-rays so if you did have one it has gone".

mrs captain was allowed to go home. herself insisted on driving just in case mrs captain tried any more monkey-business behind the wheel. my readers will be pleased to know that today mrs captain is much better, although very sore.

i hear you asking, why the horse? well, dear readers, to pass the time herself and mrs captain did a brief survey of the reason for people being in the a&e department. nearly everyone had riding clothes on. there was a young lad who had been bitten in the head by a horse, another woman who had been bitten in the hand, a woman who had rather foolishly got between two stallions fighting, a young girl who had been kicked in the leg by a horse and a woman who had fallen off a horse and broken various bones.

interestingly mrs captain and herself had planned to call in at a horse clothing shop to buy jodphurs for the wild girl and my boy's friend. so it seems even buying horse clothing can be dangerous. the lesson there is to never go near anything with 4 legs that is bigger than a lurcher...

see gulls

fledgling, originally uploaded by Joker the Lurcher.

i overheard a fascinating conversation over the breakfast table this morning.

over the weekend herself has modified a bird feeder. one of the birdfeeders is a basket for stale bread. the bread got wet and went all icky so herlsef decided to construct a roof for it.

this morning herself and my boy were commenting on how there were very few birds using the new contraption. "i expect they don't like change" said my boy, who knows about this sort of thing. "if we had seagulls in the garden they would be braver." "seagulls are not very attractive birds" said herself, "and one wouldn't fit under the new roof."

this set my boy off on an odd train of thought. "if you dated a seagull i wonder where you could take it" (i assume this was because in his book attractive equals dating) "well you couldn't take it to the pictures," said herself, "it would squawk all the way through the film."

they then talked about how seagulls dance on the ground to fool worms into thinking that it was raining. "i suppose you could take it clubbing" said my boy, finally. "why not date a person" said herself, ever the logical one. "i suppose a person would be nicer to snog" said my boy.