Yes, I do have a life but Jim’s doing his last show night. I am all alone with the dog, who’s just had his freshly cooked brown rice and a third of a big tin of dog food. I don’t know what they put in that stuff but sometimes, if I’m in the right mood, I almost want a mouthful.
Actually, that’s not true. But there’s a certain smell…. anyway.
Jackson will be 13 years old on October 22nd. We bought him for our daughter when she was seven. She had it in her mind we were buying her a motor bike – where she got this from is beyond me although Jim is a biker, with a Honda something-or-other, a crash helmet and a very sexy leather two piece that he can just about squeeze into if he lays off the Shiraz.
When she was very little we took her to Stratford Upon Avon to see ‘A Midsummers Nights Dream’. I wanted to talk culture, in-still in her her heritage, and give her a proper start in life. ‘The Bulldog Bash’, a charity gathering for hairy bikers was happening the same weekend. That night as we curled up in our bed and breakfast beds I started a conversation about Hermia and Helena, waiting for her contribution, and a bike screamed past the window.
‘What is it?’ asked her father. ‘A Honda’, she replied. ‘Good’, he said
The next was a BMW, the one after that a Kowasaki and so it went on until she identified the full throttled chorus of a herd of Harley Davidson. Her father was delighted and fell asleep a happy man.
I lay awake musing on my childs up-bringing. Being brought up by a Northern Git of a father who is a musician with a proclivity for wine, beer and bikes probably has some bearing on the fact that she is studying music and spends most of her time researching her subject in the dark subterannean taverns of London.
Anyway, when she was seven she thought Jackson was her motorbike, hugged him and looked after him for all of 12 minutes.
So, it fell to Jim to train him. He spent the first few week of his life in a basket with an alarm clock ticking under a cosy cardigan and a hot water bottle to keep him warm. The dog liked it too!
Jackson is now grey round the edges. Well, aren’t we all? Very well behaved, he asks to go outside and is the only boy in the family.
When we had him castrated, Jim never forgave me. He kept his testacles (that’s the dogs) on the mantlepiece. When we had people over, they would often compliment my cooking. ‘That’s the mutts nuts’, they would say. ‘Oh, No!’ said my husband in his lovely Leeds lilt, as he led them to the fireplace… ‘These are the dog’s bollocks!’ And they were.
I can hear Jackson asking to go out into the garden for a ‘you know what’.
Don’t you hate euphemisms?
Anyway, I’d better let him out.
Have a nice April the first. May b cu2morrer. Depends on the weather.