Almost a night off. Sort of
This morning I received an email from my husband which began: Just read your blog. I’ve put some fizz in the fridge and will get you fillet steak.
My husband is a Wonderful Human Being.*
And I’m now full of champagne and fillet steak and I’m taking the rest of the night off.**
Darkness is better—he’s by now had three anti-inflammatories and they’re obviously beginning to take effect. I discovered last night that the reason he was moaning was that he thought he couldn’t get up. I eventually decided that lying on the kitchen floor—especially wadded up in a corner of it—couldn’t be doing him any good and surely he’d be more comfortable in the dog bed. . . . But he wouldn’t come when I called him. So eventually I went over and heaved him to his feet, which is when I found out he thought he couldn’t. Once he was walking though there was a ‘oh it’s not as bad as I thought’ look on his face and he’s been getting up and down okay since then. I’ve also discovered the best way to lift him in and out of the car***. My back is not pleased but tower bell practise tonight helped. And I can see the little wheels turning in Darkness’ brain: hmmmmm, this is pretty nice, I wonder how long I can keep it going? Gah.
Meanwhile we have a slightly delayed pupdate from B twin. So let’s all of us concentrate on the sweetness and loveliness of little border collie puppies.†
And hope that Mike is astonishing Daisy and Roy with how brilliantly he’s responding to the new system.
* * *
* Some days this is easier to remember than other days, but if he were too wonderful too much of the time I’d develop an inferiority complex.
I got a come-on from the Grange Opera today—you know, where I saw a spectacular Norma last week—saying, you’ll have noticed that the economy sucks. Could we sweet-talk you into investing in us? We’re waaaaaay down: most of our corporate supporters are too busy firing staff to remember us. –I find the direct approach a lot more attractive than the usual flummery, and I’d throw some money at them if I had any^. I may go so far as to become a mailing-list Friend. They’re such a small outfit that even their lowest-level membership gets you cited in the season programme book. I said to Peter, we could be The Hon. Peter and Mrs Dickinson, OBE, and he yelled Nooooo and didn’t quite fall out of his chair, but nearly. One of the privileges of the marital state is that you get to wind each other up.^^
^ No local bell-ringing weddings tomorrow. I have an entire Saturday free. YAAAAAAY. So I may finally get the carpet chosen for Third House. Just in case I needed reminding that I have no money.
^^ I’m not sure you can stick your wife in if you’re using your OBE actually, and Peter’s already asleep so I can’t ask him. But I’ve told you, haven’t I, that I am The Hon Mrs Peter Dickinson? Want to guess how many times I’ve used that one?+
+ I take no responsibility for the occasional old fashioned nut case who uses it.
** There isn’t any rest of the night to take off. I’ve been working on PEGASUS. Time seems to have . . . flown.
And yes, there’s still going to be a Saturday night guest blog tomorrow too. It’s been a hard week. D’you want me to play the PEGASUS card again? Hey, I’m not going to lie around tomorrow night reading old London Reviews and RHS Gardens^. I’m going to work on PEGASUS.^^
^ And rose catalogues
^^ And possibly a canon.+
+ I’m sorry, when I say things like this I can’t stop myself seeing a man in a dog collar blanch and look around nervously for the nearest exit.
*** Which involves a handful of penis instead of a handful of balls. Oh the standard humiliations of (male) dog ownership.
At the moment I also have to carry him up and down the cottage stairs. Well, maybe I don’t have to, but they’re quite steep, and they have a 45% turn and I don’t like my hellhounds in pain, so I am carrying him. I’ve told you their favourite bed is upstairs in my office so there is no escape. For this little exercise I carry him in a sitting-up position . . . which brings me back to the handful of balls. And a lot of shouting No, no! Go lie down!, since normally it is a great game to thunder up and down and down and up the stairs after me as I fetch cups of tea and baskets of laundry and piles of All Stars that tend to accumulate by the front door and have to be ferried back upstairs again.
† Mike is sweet and lovely! It’s just got a little bit lost in the tumult!
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