Sunday, 19 October 2008

Tuesday 17 July 2007

During the past 36 hours I have had not one but two very lucky escapes. And I'm not counting the visit of the rumbling Sky-dog in the wee hours of this morning (my partner was most unsympathetic; she went back to sleep and I had to hide under the duvet by myself).

The most recent incident was yesterday evening. My partner and I went with Dolores to participate in the weekly pub quiz (we did very well, but were ultimately thwarted in our quest for victory. Next time, perhaps). While awaiting the commencement of the quiz, a gentleman clad in motorbike-riding leathers came up and began to pet me. Most agreeable. And then he asked my partner if she wanted to sell me.

What??!

I am not a commodity, to be traded and bandied about like some godforsaken slab of meat. My partner thought he was joking. He was not. She light-heartedly asked "How much?", at which point the chap explained that he was being serious. He slapped my legs, arms and rump and asked if I was sturdy and plucky. Cheeky s*d. My partner told the gentleman in no uncertain terms that I was not, and never would be, for sale. He departed on his motor-bike and I breathed a sigh of relief. I know that my partner would never be parted from me, for any price, but I confess that the chap's presence and serious nature unsettled me somewhat.

Prior to that episode, an incident of even greater magnitude was narrowly avoided. My partner's brother's parents-in-law are coming to stay with us next weekend. Regular readers of my blog will know that they are the companions of my beloved wife, Isolde. I am always happy, as you may imagine, to spend time with my good lady but NOT on my home turf. The thought of Isolde meeting up with my principal girlfriend, nice-but-dim Candy, chills my blood. An association between them would result in nothing but misery and suffering for me and is to be avoided at all costs. Candy would be incessantly asking Isolde for fur-dressing tips and hints on how to mollycoddle me and Isolde would just ignore Candy and then beat me to a bloody, snivelling pulp. No, that would not be good. Fortunately, arrangements were already made for Isolde to holiday with my partner's brother, so she will not be joining me this weekend. I breathe easy once more, although I am genuinely sorry not to be seeing my dearest wife, of course.

This latest wifely near-miss has merely served to remind me of just how lucky these ladies are to have me (as well as Isolde and Candy, I am including all my other girlfriends and secondary wives in this statement - I would not wish them to feel left out). Just like the Christmas or Birthday present of a learned book; I am the gift that keeps on giving.

Good day.
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