| The Warky League One Report: Suddenly let's just say, I'm odds and ends (h) 13:48 - Apr 5 with 708 views | Warkystache |
I've got a new moniker: The Dog Warker. One of my elderly neighbours has an eight-year old Golden Retriever. They're both housebound, like practically all of us, but he came round to my drive on Friday. "Notice yer still drivin' out, wondered if you'd be kind enough to walk the dog for us? Mim's on these pills for her sciatica and I've done me back in. It'd be really good of you if you'd just take the dog for a daily walk". I accepted with alacrity. Who wouldn't? All the joys of owning a dog without the vet trips, clearing up the poo in your garden and all that.
The dog's called Christie. It's a she. I did wonder if she was named after the fifties London mass murderer, but apparently not, although Mike (my neighbour) didn't say who she was named after and in my studied excitement at having a dog to walk and therefore a non-Covid transmitting buddy, I forgot to ask. I was sort of relieved that they hadn't followed the process through. I could imagine getting strange looks from fellow dog-walkers shouting "Dahmer!" or "Bundy, come here with that bone".
She's a bundle of raw energy. I took her to the beach at Dovercourt yesterday and she loved it, in and out of the sea, digging in the sand. One of those little corner shops sold Jumbones and Bonio Biscuits and tennis balls, so I bought a few and lobbed them into the sea as I strolled. She went headlong in after them like an excited seal. The only slight trouble was she came out blacker than Newgate's knocker. I forgot to bring a towel. So I took her home and washed her down before returning her to the bosom of her family. My car seats look like I've been using them to hoard coal.
Tel came round for a beer last night. He's still delivering stuff to stores in his van. He arrived at six, parked the van in my drive, crushing a few of my daffs, but they were looking a bit tired anyway. He bounded in to the house like the dog did into the sea earlier, and sat at my kitchen table removing his boots, his socks a riot of multicoloured patterns. I'd been shopping on Friday, forced to stand outside at roughly two metres from the next person and wait for someone to exit before they let me in. I came away with beer and brandy and only missing the Rice Krispies, eggs and durum wheat pasta from my list.
Tel sipped his Peroni and told me horror stories from the front-line of delivery. "'Alf a pallet of bog rolls they 'ad an' they reckoned they'd have sold out ten minutes after puttin' 'em out. It's crazy. Ah said to Ray, bleedin' stoopid it's geddin' these days. 'E's ex-para so 'e's used to shortidges. Be surprised if 'e bovvers wiv bog roll at 'ome; probly uses 'is 'and".
He'd bought a gift; a bottle of Glenmorangie, unopened and still in the box. "Neighbour gave me it, but ah've stopped drinkin' scotch so I fought you'd appreshiate it more'n me?" I thanked him and then gave him a surprise of my own; four bottles of Asahi I'd picked up as he'd moaned earlier about not finding any in his local Asda. He hugged them to him like his newborn first child. "Fanks" he said, with a smile. "Ah can't find this anywhere". I took the Indian bits out of the oven. I'd done a sort of Vindaloo curry sauce to accompany them. He mopped his samosas and poppadoms in it liberally.
"'Ad any furver foughts on the US?" he asked casually as we sat sipping beer and munching Indian bits. I'm saving £300 a month towards the trip next year. I said I fancied a bit longer in New York and he snorted "we'll be busy in the bars darn there, you won't want more'n' a week 'cos yer'll wanna spend more time in Frisco and LA". He drained his beer and reached for another, prising the cap off with my bottle-opener-cum-corkscrew. " The wife wants more time in California 'cos iss hot'n'that. She'll wanna get on them beaches sunbavin'. An' shopping'" he added as an after thought, a pained look on his face as he realised this could cost him a fortune.
"Paula's mum's gottit" said Tel, eyeing me with a look of dread. "She's self-isolatin' at 'ome, Paula texted me on Fursday. Fing is...." and here he became confidential and flecked me with unswallowed bits of poppadom as he got in close, "Fing is, ow'd she know iss Corona? Could jus' be a cold'n'that? She's sus.... suss..... prone to colds, cos of 'er MS". He leaned back and took a long sip from his bottle, winking at me. "Ah bet iss just a cold" he said, point proven.
He left at seven thirty, reversing back over my daffs just to make sure they were goners, uprooting and trailing three in his back wheels as he drove off. He waved from the driver's window as he rounded the corner. He's coming back on Good Friday for another catch up. I didn't even realise it was Good Friday next week. My hair's starting to look like a haystack. It needed a trim before they shut all the hairdressers. Tel offered to have a bash next week with Mrs Tel's clippers she uses on his. I said thanks, but. I'd scare the neighbours into thinking an escaped convict is holding me captive.
Must go. I'm taking Christie to Shotley in a mo. I even packed a picnic to have in the car; two cans of Pepsi, a bag of pickled onion Monster Munch and the roast pork I cooked last night in sandwiches with apple sauce and cos lettuce and a bit of mayo. I've even found that bottle of car upholstery shampoo I got when I bought the car a few years ago. I reckon that'll be my job tomorrow sorted.
See you for the Easter extravaganza! |  |
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