Coffee, or something stronger?

Good day, dear citizens of the new world. My cup is full and there’s a socially distanced seat near the bookshelf here in our favourite coffee shop. Grab your beverage and head my way so we can catch up.

First of all, tell me all about your world. What has been happening to you over the past few weeks? I am sorry I haven’t met up for a coffee or even visited your blogs and websites. There is no valid excuse other than I didn’t feel like conversing with humans, in person or online. Do you ever feel like switching off? Maybe hibernating in a cave? Well, disconnecting is my coping mechanism. Those that know me well don’t mind and those that do…well, maybe we aren’t as close as we imagine.

My news is: the sprogs have returned to school. Apparently, the sickness and flu bugs received the same memo and were in full attendance from day one. War has commenced and our learning institutions are fighting the great fight to stay open as our invisible enemies threaten to overwhelm the system. Who will win remains to be seen. I have my money on a bottle of tequila and my bat cave door remaining shut. What’s the point of placing bets on that battle? You got to know hold off, know when to fold up, know when to walk away and know when to run. Betting against these odds is a lose/lose situation.

Would you like to hear some horror stories from the front line? Well, face masks are being worn and hands are being washed. Social distancing is adhered to during line ups and lunch times. But, someone forgot to tell these bugs to butt out during the in-between times. They love killing time in bubbles, sharing anecdotes with their oblivious asymptomatic carriers. They roller coaster up and down the stairs next to minions pushing in unison to get to classes and kick off after school with those careful kids walking cheek by jowl down the country roads. It kind of reminds me of Goldilocks and little Red Riding hood on vacation from the bears and wolves, laughing that they’ll never get caught because they are too damn clever. If only the viruses understood this winning attitude and followed the rules of carefully prescribed bubbles. The battle continues. I’ll keep you posted on progress (if I decide to come back out of my bat cave).

In other news, I managed to published my ebook, Moofy and Flo. It launched rather quietly a few weeks ago, without the pizazz of repeated sharing across social media and piggy backing off friends’ platforms. Needless to say, it fell flat on its hairy a…face! So, in the spirit of sharing, I’m attaching a pic and a link. If you feel the need to entertain your tiny sprogs with a delightful tale of friendship and frolicking fun that goes wrong, download a copy. The paperback version is on hold. I am battling with formatting and will try to get that down before the world ends. If I don’t, well..no one will care, will they?

Things don’t always go to plan when you try to help your friends. Trying is what matters in the end.

Before we end this titillating tête-à-tête, I must share a rather amusing story of what happened this weekend. It’s not funny in the hilarious sense – rather, an tale of stupidity and the loss of faith in some youths. It all went down on Saturday night at about 11.20pm. We were still up, watching some dribble on the telly, when there was a screech of brakes outside the window. Next, a swooshing with the impact sound that makes your insides go queasy. I ran to the window, trying to decipher where the sound had come from, or ended up. Nothing. So I ran to my sprog’s bedroom window where a horrible scream emanated from the front of our house. It wasn’t one of those, ‘Oh my god! Someone died!’ kind of screams. It was more of the ‘Stop him! Oh my god! Catch him!’ variation.

By the time we got downstairs and out the front door (in our pyjamas), the neighbours had already assembled around the front garden of the house adjacent to ours. We live at a road junction which has become a thorough-fair for traffic avoiding roadworks and late night speed trails. While scanning the area to see what had occurred, I noticed my neighbour’s front hedge had a gaping hole in it. The grass was smooshed down in front of it and the focus of the gathering spectators pointed to something hidden beyond that toothless green grin. Just as I was about to ask what happened, I spotted a figure climbing over the hedge and dropping like a drunk bee onto the pavement. Being the good citizen that I am, I pointed to this young fellow and asked if he was involved. The avengers raised their war cry to stop this grass seed from leaving the crime scene as his friends had done before we arrived (which explained the earlier screams). Unfortunately, the hyped up youth thought it best to run through the defense line and ended up face to face with me. We both bent forward, ready to scrum. He lunged to the right. I turned and grabbed his shirt, holding on for a mere second before releasing it. Thoughts flying throw my adrenalin-fuelled brain warned me to watch out for germs and to remember the laws of the land. He stumbled straight towards the hubble who in turn snatched and released the lad. We watched him run up the road to the harrowing sounds of rage and despair. Funny enough, no one gave chase. The joys of being an adult conscious of the limitations of our wrath. The last bumbling fool to leave the car was so drunk, he forgot his phone as he stumbled over the remnants of hedge. Halfway up the road, he staggered back to retrieve his things, then walked away without anyone batting an eyelid. So much for the avengers.

I’m going to say it; if my parents were alive, the evening would have ended differently for those fine figures of society. Given the police still needed to catch them and test them for alcohol and drugs in their system before either substance disappeared, they were savvy enough not to stick around. Forget about taking responsibility and facing your mistakes. This is 2020. If you can lie, then ultimately get away with it on a technicality, you’re in the right. Isn’t that the modus operandi of politics and leadership these days? Let’s see what unfolds in the next few weeks. I’m not holding my breath for an apology from our future selves to my poor neighbour for the damage done.

Well, my cup is empty and so is my news basket. Send me your news and updates in the comments below and I promise to reply within the next few days. I hope we will get a chance to share a drink and enjoy each other’s company again soon.

Stay well and stay safe.

Monday Coffee

Good morning!

Our coffee date is starting early today since we have had a few incidents since four o’clock this morning.  Let’s fill our mugs and I will tell you what happened.  You might find it quite amusing.

It all started yesterday when my little son cut Henry’s nose with a scissors.  Yes, I did say scissors. It sounds very macabre but it was a simple mistake.  Munchkin (the perpetrator), decided that he wanted to remove the loose strings from his special blanket and the best way to do that was with a brand new pair of scissors.  We have a rule in our house that covers sharp objects, but of course when the determined Munchkin decided it needed to be done, the rules were bent.

As he sliced through the soft strings with an over-sized pair of scissors, Henry (our puppy) decided to poke his nose closer to investigate what Munchkin was doing.  In that split second the strings and a piece of nose were efficiently removed.  Sad to say, hysterics ensued with a Shakespearean twist; my son threatened to stab himself because he believed that he had severely injured the dog, to the extent that he might die.  My daughter saw the blood, panicked and started screaming and crying.  The older daughter decided to take things in hand and gave them specific jobs to do to make Henry better (fetching kitchen towels to mop up the blood droplets flying everywhere, retrieving salt for a salt water wash for the wound and ice – for Henry, not herself).

I arrived on the scene to find them in hysterics and assumed the worst – the dog had turned on them and had bitten them.  Either that or they had decided to go for a full on Sparta match and had hurt each other severely.  In my defence, I couldn’t make out the squeals, cries and blubs. It sounded a bit like, “Henry blub me…loooook!  I blub Henry! Waaah!” I quickly checked them for bites, wounds, black eyes, anything to warrant the torrent of panic.  But, all I could see were two little children crying in my arms, pointing at arbitrary locations of the house.

It only dawned on me that something was wrong with the poor pup when my older daughter carried him to me, his little nose bleeding at the top and his little face in a state of shock.  She yelled, “Henry’s been hurt.  His nose has been cut off!”

That got my attention!

After examining the squiggling worm of a puppy, I established that he would live, albeit with a little piece of nose missing.  The salt wash cleared any debris and we couldn’t apply anything because he kept licking the area.  It looked painful, like a nick from a razor-blade.  He wasn’t too fussed and wriggled away, trying to lick me and give me his paw.  Whilst this intensive examination was going on, both children continued their symphony of tears and blubbing. As calmly as possible, I explained that he wouldn’t die from his wound, but would be in a lot of pain for a while until the wound closed.  We went into detail about how the blood would clot and form a protective shield over the wound and that we should try to discourage his licking it off before it could dry.  That shut them up. Science and a delivery of facts usually does.  Pity my heart didn’t get the message. My blood pressure was sky high.

Roll on the rest of the evening.  I was busy changing my bed covers when lo and behold, a mess of children and pets rumbled up the stairs.  Henry transposed himself on top of my nice, clean duvet and proceeded to empty his bladder.  My screams of horror did nothing to stop him.  His little face quivered in fear and I resisted the urge to chase him down the stairs and out the back door so that the punishment of a few minutes outside might clear his memory on rules of ablution.  My mistake.  Later that night, whilst fast asleep in my cosy, freshly made bed (again!), little Henry must have been having a nightmare and released his bladder again.  I awoke to the warm, wet feeling of something spreading on my side.

“Henry, wake up!  You’re wetting the bed!”

Yes.  I know.  I was talking to a dog.  A dog that seemed to understand what I was saying because he woke up and flew down the stairs with me in time to do his major business in the garden.  Phew!  Drenched on the side and half asleep, I went back upstairs to run a bath and change the bed.  Of course, Hubble was awake and moving the wet bedding before it hit the mattress.  A cacophony of cats were howling downstairs so I trudged back down, barely thinking as I opened the front door to let them out.  I heard a trundle of steps coming down the stairs behind me and assumed the Hubble was bringing down the soiled bedding, but no, it was Henry.  As quick as a flash he slipped out of the front door and ran to the open green at the front of our house.

“Henry, noooo!” I yelled, remembering only after that my neighbours were fast asleep.  There I stood, watching this dog, this bane of my existence, relieving himself again and sniffing the air as though weighing the possibilities of freedom.  Slowly, I tiptoed towards him in my pyjamas (still wet), barefoot and wild haired.  The closer I crept, the more skittish he looked.  I gave up.  There was no way I would chase this little cretin in my dirty pj’s with no shoes on cold, wet grass.  I went back inside to change into my leggings and jumper.  By the time I returned downstairs, the Hubble had enticed him back inside with a slice of ham.

Grrr.

The Hubble giggled.  He handed me a cup of tea and giggled again.  I had forgotten about my hair.  I did see the funny side later, after draining at least half my cup of tea.  It was five o’clock in the morning; humour is in short supply at that time of day.  By the time we had our baths and cleaned our bed, it was already time to get ready for work.

So, that’s why we are having an early coffee date today.  I’m tired!  I’m sorry I’ve hogged the time, but I just had to share this ridiculous moment of our lives.

Now, your turn, tell me about your weekend. :o)