Tag Archives: Rain

Perfect timing

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As I set off to take the little dog for his walk down the woods, I looked up at the sky: after a sunny afternoon, the clouds had been gathering and the sky was getting darker. We take the car to the local country park because it’s a little too far to walk. On our approach, the rain started spotting on the windscreen and within a few minutes of our walk around the lake, it was raining heavily.

I was dressed entirely inappropriately without a coat.

Some of our circuit was sheltered partially by a canopy of trees, but it was, on the whole, pretty wet. We encountered fellow sufferers on our way round. Our canine companions didn’t mind one iota as they ran through the muddy puddles that increased in capacity with each second. We humans though, gave each other that knowing look of despair at the duties we have to fulfil as dog owners.

“I thought the rain was going in the other direction”, remarked one man, a regular on our walks down there. His large, curly-haired beast bounding around with my scruffy, overgrown and now sodden mutt.

“Yes, I timed this perfectly!” I responded as he ran on ahead.

Perfect bloody timing! I was drenched. We got back to the car and I buckled him in. He wasn’t happy and I knew he hated me for taking him out in the rain.

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“Why couldn’t you bring me out an hour earlier when it was nice and dry, Mummy, you fucking bitch?”

Well, little Rocky, yes, it would’ve been nice to have a nice dry walk and for you not to have got the inside of my car soaking wet when you had a shake after jumping onto the seat, of course it would. But look at this, you didn’t notice this because you’re a pea-brained dog. If we’d come out an hour earlier, I wouldn’t have seen this. And this, dear little dog, as far as I’m concerned, was perfect timing.

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World Lazy Day

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Apparently, it’s World Lazy Day today. As if I need an excuse on a rainy Sunday.

I have housework to do. The bathroom awaits. I resent the grouting that separates the tiles. Surely there must be something better that can be used for this purpose, something that doesn’t act as a perfect habitat for the growth of mold, something that doesn’t suffer discolouration with time.

The discoloured grout gives me an excuse, as if needed, to do the bathroom in shifts: the grout is currently soaking in bleach foam. This gives me twenty or so minutes to lounge around in bed a while longer and muse about the relative merits of Cif versus Flash spray for achieving a streak-free finish and lemon freshness. Flash is easier to rinse, but it’s in the kitchen cupboard, so Cif wins out today. When I can be arsed to do it.

Pffft.

Women
Of course, having sold out on my “no telly in the bedroom” principles, I am able to watch episodes of Frasier from YouTube, which I can stream to the telly using my little Chromecast device.  With eleven series of twenty-odd episodes, most of which are available in full online, I could spend many happy days tucked up under my duvet enjoying the fast-paced dialogue and story lines that take themselves from classic British farce.

I love Roz Doyle in this show. I think that I want to marry Roz, or somebody like her, or Nigella of course. Somebody smart, funny, feminine, vivacious, irreverent, sexy.

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I don’t think women like Roz really exist, not in my world at least. When lesbians try to be smart, funny, vivacious and irreverent, we get this:

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Sandi Toksvig

Ellen Degeneres

And are these women sexy?  No, not to me.  More to the point, they’re fucking annoying as fuck. I don’t know what it is about them, but it’s as if they try too hard to be something, to act a particular way… a bit cheeky maybe.  Like an over enthusiastic puppy that yaps innuendo. I guess they’re just being themselves and they’re probably very nice women; I just despair at the lack of lesbian role models who don’t conform to this stereotype.

There’s always Jodie I suppose, but I suppose normal women who happen to be gay are just that, normal.

 

Profligacy

Despite it being World Lazy Day, I nipped to the supermarket this afternoon.  I only went for some bits and ended up spending £60.  How does this happen? I even had a list in my head.  I suppose that list didn’t include a new clock for my kitchen, five packets of Pepsi Max and enough shower gel to last me three months.  Sixty pounds.  That’s a hell of a lot of money for a booze and fag-free shop.

Still, come the apocalypse, at least I’ll have a freezer full of sausages and a cupboard full of pasta to keep me going.  That’s as long as we still have gas supplies and fresh running water, so you know, not like a real apocalypse, just one where I don’t leave the house for a couple of weeks.  Watching Frasier.