The Shah is on Skype. ‘Hahaha’ he chortles, ‘I read your blog – very funny but not quite accurate.’
‘How’s that?’ I ask.
‘I haven’t got 142 episodes of The Big Bang Theory to watch.’
Me: (hopeful) ‘No?’
Shah: (lols) ‘No!’(triumphantly) ‘it’s 144!!’
That’s GROSS! I reply smartly, but he chooses to ignore my rapier wit.
So here we are with episode two, carrying on from the chaos of half term with a bit more news – some old and some new:-
- The cat, having (you may recall) deposited the gift of a dead rat by the bed, follows this up by vomiting violently all over the bedroom carpet at 3o’clock the following morning. He is so surprised by this turn of events (he is not a habitual puker, thank God - unlike cats past but don’t start me on that story) that he runs away as he voms, leaving a trail of semi-digested Whiskas with Lamb behind him. Fucking brilliant. It reminds me of those happy days when your children were young and would stumble into your bedroom at night and go “Mummy, I feel... BLEUAAGHH!” all over your bed.
- At 3.02a.m. I am downstairs, burrowing in the cupboard under the sink, looking for the Vanish carpet cleaner I know is there. Upstairs again, I have wiped up the majority of the foul smelling mess and try to spray the Vanish foam onto the stain. Does it work fabulously? The fuck it does. First of all, nothing comes out. Then, slowly, a blob appears and slithers onto the carpet. I press harder. All of a sudden, a viscous jet of chemicals shoots out and decorates the wall. “You fucking bastard!” I scream and spend the next half an hour scrubbing furiously at the carpet whilst the feckin’ feline sits downstairs stuffing his chops with a refill of mashed-up horsemeat or whatever it is they put it Whiskas.
- Sleep-deprived and grumpy, I am at work the next day when my phone rings and I see my mother’s number come up. My heart sinks. The last time she rang me during the day, it was to discuss the relative merits of a round, red washing up bowl over the square, green one she currently possesses. I answer reluctantly. ‘HELLO?’ Bellows mama. ‘HELLO? WHO’S THAT?’ I am irritated beyond measure. ‘Who do you think it is?’ I snap. Mama ignores my sarcasm. ‘IS THAT YOU DARLING?’ she bawls. ‘Yes mum, it’s me. You rang me, remember?’ ‘YES, YES, THE THING IS I'VE JUST HAD A FUNNY PHONE CALL AND I COULDN'T MAKE OUT WHO WAS ON THE OTHER END. WAS IT YOU? COME TO THINK OF IT,’ she muses without waiting for my reply, ‘I THINK IT WAS A MAN. WHOO HOO!’ and with that, she hangs up.
- When she was staying over half term (and this is the bit I forgot to include last time) I gave both children a warning. ‘You will NOT swear in front of your grandmother’ I said sternly. ‘I don’t want to hear one single swearword – it’s disrespectful and I won’t have it.’ The children nod guiltily. A couple of days later, daughter is talking to her granny. Granny can’t hear (naturally). She takes out her hearing aids to see if that helps (yes, I know...). ‘IT'S NO GOOD DARLING,’ she bellows, ‘I CAN'T HEAR A FUCKING THING!’
I give up.
And finally...last night the bloody cat brought a mouse into the bedroom and started playing with it enthusiastically. I lost my rag and looked around for something to lob at him. Luckily, I had not taken the Vanish stain remover downstairs and the lid proved to be a useful weapon. He vanished (haha) and I finally got to sleep. This morning, I was up early and stumbled along the landing in bare feet. You’d think I might have learned by now, wouldn’t you? Yes. I stepped straight into the disgusting little pile of mouse guts, lovingly left at the top of the stairs.
And that just goes to prove that there is more than one type of gross.