If it’s not too much to ask

Sunday lunch was lentils.

Because that’s how my lovely man likes it. He was very excited to have his special lentil dish on the menu.

I had a small bowl and got the side eye. How long is it going to last if other people are eating it I could see him thinking. Can’t you just have a biscuit?

He’s like that with his chocolate cake too. Not everything is to be shared.

A deep sigh of contentment on completion of his meal. Courtesy of his sister.

I think, he pondered, we could try and make this once a month.

It’s the only way I can see myself coping he ended with finality.

The only way…

Yes, I’m completely useless

We have had a flurry of visitors. The latest being my lovely man’s sister. She loves him very much (as he deserves), and there is much chatting and reminiscing.

I am listening, with half an ear, at the chatting outside while I am, inevitably, working.

As a side note, we have been without lentils for a while. I am uncertain how we got into this sad state, but that’s how it’s been.

The favoured lentil dish is, in fact, one that their mum used to make. So, of course, the conversation took this turn.

My lovely man’s sister is a great cook. I am not.

I braced myself.

Oxtail and the lentil dish were decided on.

I see you have a hot pot she said, how does it work and I’ll use that.

As you can see, I said, it is a virgin still in it’s wrapping, and all the manuals are in that drawer. I’ll be in my office.

You have an amazing amount of gadgets for someone who doesn’t cook she commented.

I am nothing, if not prepared for visitors and the services they offer, I replied.

It was not too long before she started asking ridiculous questions like ‘where are the onions and potatoes’.

Assume nothing I said, here’s some paper and a pen, make a list.

I just need one onion she tried…

I’m in my office I reminded her.

Aaaaaaah eyeeeee

Apparently, if you don’t jump onto the AI bandwagon, you risk getting left behind in life.

I wonder how much new anxiety this causes the older generation who are already being advised that nothing can be done to assist them in their query unless they manage the matter through the ‘app’

Anyway, we can only hope we all die young enough or that our money lasts long enough I guess.

So, I have been diligently attending training in the insurance industry. These clever people have worked out how to insure people against the risk of implementing AI in some form or another, and the risk of it all going horribly wrong.

What the actual…..

Prior to this, more clever people offered ‘cyber security’ cover, and I attended much training in this regard. As mind blowing.

I had some enquiries on Cyber risk and sent the proposal form to them to complete. This often shuts down any insurance query some poor soul thinks about looking into. In this case, I suspect they ended themself.

I anticipate AI risk cover will have the same result. Can’t wait to get the proposal form and spend my days figuring it out.

In fact, if anyone asks me for cover to protect them against AI going wrong, I intend to immediately block them.

It’s a mouthful

My lovely man and I are each on a dental journey. Some of it through necessity, some of it through choice. Not much of it, as it turns out, fun.

It’s lengthy, laborious and largely painful. On the one hand, we are grateful we can get these things tended to, on the other hand we are somewhat regretting our choices.

And then we watch TV. American TV in particular. The Brits don’t seem to have any dentists. But… There is rarely an American actor without perfect teeth.

As my lovely man and I sit and watch, in our own various stages of trauma and healing… We discuss this a lot. Spooning ice cream and cold soup into our wounded gobs, the only diet we can manage these days.

Are Americans born with perfect teeth? Surely they can’t all endure major dental work?

Can anyone shed light on this phenomenon?

Sincerely bewildered.

OK, I can probably sort that out

I’m no relationship expert. God knows I’ve enjoyed my share of failures…

But, I do love my lovely man, so I do try.

Every now and then I check in and ask the man..

‘Are you happy my darling? Is there anything you need, or would like changed?’

So, I asked recently and the man went into deep thought.

I waited, with some apprehension, gotta say.

Well, he said slowly… There is one thing..

My underpants are too tight, can you please get me some more?

Wot a lot I got

A little while ago we had some friends around.

As I’m the worst hostess ever, and have managed to get comfortably into middle age without ever actually cooking a meal, any fare served is either a take away or a smorgasbord of snacks.

In my defence, I make a great snack platter. And a decent sandwich.

As we generally have well bred friends…. Except for that one, now that I think about it…. They bought a little gift.

(It’s possible our friends bring something to sustain them in case there is nothing on offer).

But! These friends bought a bag of popcorn and a big box of smarties. What a delight of a gift.

It gets better…

Because… they said. ‘Put them together in a bowl and then every now and again there’s a smartie in the mix as you snack’.

How did I not know this? It’s as good as frozen strawberries in your wine instead of ice.

Life is a treasure for sure. It’s become a favourite.

It all counts

We have four little fur babies that share our lives. We also feed the birds in the neighborhood. All of them I suspect. Who are ravenous. And two little mice, who come and go and at present are gone, possibly deceased.

The two cats, interestingly enough, are far less fussy eaters than the two little dogs. When it comes to little dogs, it is important to note that if you spoil them with all kinds of delicacies when they are pups, you are screwed forever and have no hope of changing the diet back to anything easy or reasonably priced.

I am in charge of the morning cuppa in our household and this involves feeding the ravenous cats. Lie ins are not permitted ever, they barely make it through the night from dinner to 5am feed. We have a very vocal Ginger, who screams in my face by 05h10. No need for an alarm.

My lovely man feeds the pups a bit later, who do enjoy a lie in, as long as there is a wee snack given to them as we enjoy a cuppa and a choccie bic. (This is not their snack, panic not).

My lovely man reports back as to how the breakfast he serves the pups is received. He is delighted if it is scoffed down and distressed if not. A discussion as to how we can tempt these fat, ungrateful and completely indulged creatures ensues.

I suspect, I suggested, the ratio of pellets to the other goodies, is too high.

How many pellets must I give them then, he asked unexpectedly. Twelve each I randomly suggested, in a panic.

Then, we were thrown a curved ball as the vet suggested we soften the pellets to help with aging teeth.

So, one of my 5am duties is soaking the pellets in advance of the feed in hot water.

Immediately, I received feedback… And criticism.

You are obviously not counting the pellets, I was advised, there were 13 and 15 in the bowl respectively this morning. And there was disdain and dissent at breakfast as a result. Will you count them please? We decided on twelve.

As it turns out, one cannot make and then break the rules here.

Is that the complaints department?

My lovely man is prone to nightmares. I know, it’s awful, the poor bugger. Everyone in his dreams seems determined to beat him up.

It’s quite traumatic and involves a great deal of soothing and cuddles after a session of screaming and thrashing around. And that’s just for the pups on the bed.

We’ve got some help, so it’s much improved, but the occasional burst of terror sometimes means he throws himself off the bed.

So, to keep him safe, I ordered, (Takealot of course, is there anything you can’t get from them? I think not), a bed rail.

So, now he’s caged in on one side and is limited to throwing himself on top of me.

(Not sure I’ve properly thought this through).

He’s got quite adept at raising and lowering the rail, but before he does that, he follows his little ritual of sitting on the side of the bed and faffing with whatever we faff with before we turn in.

Darling, he says out of the blue, you need to get hold of these people about a potential design flaw of this contraption of mine.

Oh, I said, what’s that?

I’m in severe peril of clamping my ballsack everyday if I’m not careful, he shared.

This is not a survival tip

My lovely man… Bless him… gave me a little squeeze today.

Thank you darling, I said, love you, be careful to not squash the boobies. (This is never welcome just by the by, unless it’s your thing… In which case, you do you).

Oh, he said, sorry, I thought they were higher up.

Keep your kit on for pity’s sake

I’ve lost 10kg.

I know! Marvelous hey?

But, no applause required, because I purchased myself some will power.

What a cheater.

Sadly, at my age and years of a determined sedentary lifestyle, losing weight does not automatically translate into a firm, twenty year old bod.

So, that’s this year’s resolution. Again.

Anyhoo, I’m delighted with myself and DNC.

We had visitors, whom we haven’t seen for a while.

So, we spent some time at the pool. Sun, wine, water, good friends. A delight.

You know, in swimming costumes.

At one point, I hauled myself out of the pool. I DNC as a reminder.

My VERY good friend observed me and piped up…

“You looked amazing yesterday, you really have done well”

“Do you mean yesterday, when I had clothes on?” I clarified.