I am thinking of swapping my black glossed front door for a football stadium turnstile. As you know, son number two left here on Thursday to head back to his seaside hovel, and the house had barely registered that he'd gone, when daughter number one returned home after a week away. Is this how my life is always going to be? I thought that the husband and I were due some serious one to one time, but it would appear that fate and the ankle biters have other plans for us.
The husband's next big project, which starts very soon, is sorting out daughter number one's first home of her own. With the aid of a Kango hammer and some plasterboard, he's going to turn her multi-cupboarded one bedroom flat, into a far more sensible two bedroom residence with no storage space at all. I find this slightly concerning knowing how many pairs of shoes she has, and have a real fear that the bedroom she is occupying here at the moment will be transformed into some kind of shoe storage and display area - if she does this, the room will be re-christened 'The Shuseum'. Of course the dogs sleep in there, so I wouldn't give her shoes much of a life expectancy. Reg is the current world record holder for flip-flop shredding, so any shoes would need to be at least six feet off the floor if they were to survive a week, let alone a fashion season.
Talking of survival, the house has held its own this week with minimal damage done by the canine piranha known as Reg. I put this down to all the stuff I bought from the pet shop last week. There has only been one incident which involved a loose thread on the front door curtain, but some thoughtful pleating has hidden this from him, so I am hoping that he'll leave it alone now.
Talking of the two fuzzballs, I took them for a walk in the woods yesterday afternoon. Everything was going swimmingly, when all of a sudden the two dogs bolted. They were AWOL for about twenty minutes, after which a very knackered Percy appeared on the horizon, just like Old Bodger in The Incredible Journey, panting up to me like an old steam engine. Putting him on the lead, I waited for Reg to turn up. He's never far from Percy normally, but this time he was a no-show. So I called his name, shouted that I had treats, and generally offered all manner of bribes and threats if he came back.
After about fifteen minutes, I have to confess that I was on the verge of thinking, 'Run free Reg, Run all the way to some other poor sod's house which you can terrorise'. Just as I was thinking this, I heard his strangled bark, and I knew that if I went home without him, there would be hell to pay. Actually I say this, but as every member of this family has witnessed the oral destruction of something close to their heart, I reckon we would have got over his departure quite quickly.
All joking apart, I was desperate to find him, and started running (in wellies) through the wood towards the barking. As I turned the corner, there he was, barking at three very large dogs and their owners, who looked slightly hacked off. Apparently, they had been trying to chase him away for half an hour so that they could continue their walk, but he was intent on going with them. I grabbed hold of him, and shouted after them 'Thank you!'
Pondering on this again, I think that 'Sorry' might have been more appropriate...