Sick, sick, sick...
I got lulled into a false sense of security yesterday morning, leaving the dogs with barely a backwards glance, as I knew that I had done all I could to ensure that Reg wasn't bored. Daughter number one was still at home when I left, so he even had human company for longer than usual.
Four hours later I was back home.
Oh dear God...
I have calculated that the damage he causes when I am at work costs more than I actually get paid. I called the husband after I had tidied up the bits of carpet and underlay littering the hall floor, and suggested that he bring home a bloody big piece of wood to stop Reg getting anywhere near the stair carpet. I also asked him to bring home some Duct Tape. The husband thinks that this is mend the damage, and I've let him believe this. To be honest, there are many suggestions I could make which would include the tape and Reg, and none of them would involve the stair carpet...
As you know, I am surrounded by illness at the moment. To be honest, much as I love him, I was ecstatic to see the back of son number two and his hacking cough last week. It was like listening to a stuck record for three days...
'Cough...groan...cough...moan...cough...Mum, can I have a cup of tea?'
Fifteen minutes later...
'Cough...groan...cough...moan...cough...Mum, can I have some water...'
So as you can imagine, it was with some trepidation that I answered his call yesterday afternoon. Surely by now he must be on the mend. Well it would appear that he has 'taken a turn for the worst'. This was validated by copious amounts of coughing, coupled with the most piteous voice I have ever heard. I'm not too sure what he was hoping to achieve by calling me. Perhaps some small part of him expected me to leap in my car and race down the M23, with my window open, shouting 'Nee Naw, Nee Naw', at the tip of my voice to warn other drivers that I was coming through.
Well he was disappointed I'm afraid. I gave him some excellent advice, and made some suggestions. What I was really saying behind my kind words was 'Man up and get yourself to the doctors for goodness' sake'. He's over a hundred miles away, most of which is M25 and M23. Even if I had left as soon as he called, chances are I wouldn't arrive at his seaside hovel till Thursday, by which time he should definitely have turned a corner (another of my favourite 'pull yourself together' phrases).
The husband was very busy yesterday, demolishing daughter number one's flat. He had implied that he was merely removing all the internal walls so that he has a clean canvas with which to work with. Early photographic evidence shows that the clean canvas looks more like there has been an earthquake in there. He walked in through the front door last night looking like he'd had a fight with a bag of self raising flour, and as I steered him towards the shower, small clouds of dust puffed into the air every time he moved.
He has a week to do this, and I have the feeling it may be my longest one yet...
Four hours later I was back home.
Oh dear God...
I have calculated that the damage he causes when I am at work costs more than I actually get paid. I called the husband after I had tidied up the bits of carpet and underlay littering the hall floor, and suggested that he bring home a bloody big piece of wood to stop Reg getting anywhere near the stair carpet. I also asked him to bring home some Duct Tape. The husband thinks that this is mend the damage, and I've let him believe this. To be honest, there are many suggestions I could make which would include the tape and Reg, and none of them would involve the stair carpet...
As you know, I am surrounded by illness at the moment. To be honest, much as I love him, I was ecstatic to see the back of son number two and his hacking cough last week. It was like listening to a stuck record for three days...
'Cough...groan...cough...moan...cough...Mum, can I have a cup of tea?'
Fifteen minutes later...
'Cough...groan...cough...moan...cough...Mum, can I have some water...'
So as you can imagine, it was with some trepidation that I answered his call yesterday afternoon. Surely by now he must be on the mend. Well it would appear that he has 'taken a turn for the worst'. This was validated by copious amounts of coughing, coupled with the most piteous voice I have ever heard. I'm not too sure what he was hoping to achieve by calling me. Perhaps some small part of him expected me to leap in my car and race down the M23, with my window open, shouting 'Nee Naw, Nee Naw', at the tip of my voice to warn other drivers that I was coming through.
Well he was disappointed I'm afraid. I gave him some excellent advice, and made some suggestions. What I was really saying behind my kind words was 'Man up and get yourself to the doctors for goodness' sake'. He's over a hundred miles away, most of which is M25 and M23. Even if I had left as soon as he called, chances are I wouldn't arrive at his seaside hovel till Thursday, by which time he should definitely have turned a corner (another of my favourite 'pull yourself together' phrases).
The husband was very busy yesterday, demolishing daughter number one's flat. He had implied that he was merely removing all the internal walls so that he has a clean canvas with which to work with. Early photographic evidence shows that the clean canvas looks more like there has been an earthquake in there. He walked in through the front door last night looking like he'd had a fight with a bag of self raising flour, and as I steered him towards the shower, small clouds of dust puffed into the air every time he moved.
He has a week to do this, and I have the feeling it may be my longest one yet...
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