Tuesday 29 January 2008

Well... according to one of my most belovèd correspondents, I have become somewhat of "a right old grumble-bum". It was kindly meant, and she does have a certain point (although my bottom is more usually described as 'delightfully pert'). My writings have been tending towards the negative of late, so I will attempt to inject some lightness into my proceedings.

Actually, today HAS been a most satisfactory day. Following the episode of Friday, my partner has today received a telephone call which made her smile. I am less happy on the subject, so will gloss over this particular happenstance.

I have accompanied my partner to work for the past two days, so have been sharing a good part of my time with leaflet-adorning nemesis Ewan. To be fair to him, he was very pleased to see me. I elected not to inform him of my stick-widdling activities. We actually had some good games out in the yard and, in a quieter moment, I was able to raise the subject of the offensive publication. He explained how he was brushed, dusted, and finally bribed into position with a biscuit before he was photographed with Bradley. Apparently it took some time and Ewan said he found it all incredibly boring.
"But you are on a leaflet." I said, "That's such an honour."
"Yeh." he replied, "It was brilliant. Being on a leaflet is brilliant. I think it's brilliant being on a leaflet. I like being on a leaflet."
Hmmm...

Shortly after lunch, a drama of near-epic qualities threatened to overwhelm us all. Except it didn't. My partner received a 'phone call from a most concerned member of the public, reporting a "giant rabbit" running loose on a local countryside site (for which she and her new colleagues are responsible). With apocalyptic visions of some hellish, long-toothed, floppy-eared behemoth terrorising the populace, my partner and a colleague grabbed a couple of butterfly nets and a hefty cardboard box and selflessly ventured out to snare the beast - without any thought for their own personal safety. Ewan and I bravely chose to wait in the office.

The 'giant rabbit' turned out to be an inoffensive tan and white, normal-sized, pet bunny, which some soul-less b*st*rd had obviously got bored with and dumped out in the 'wild' of the site's car park. After a quarter of an hour (or so)'s pursuit, the wily beastie was netted and, apparently, sat very tamely and engagingly on my partner's lap for the drive back to the office. There is a happy outcome for the bun - Bradley's mother is very fond of rabbits and a quick telephone call ensured the little fellow a happy home with her. My partner wants her to call the rabbit "Bunnicula" in homage to a book she read as a pup about a vampire rabbit who sucked the juice out of vegetables (his owners would go into the kitchen in the morning to find that all the carrots had turned white).

I have to say that Ewan and I were somewhat disappointed at the way events turned out. The fortunate lapin was secured in a container to which we were strictly denied access. For when we heard the return of my partner, her colleague, and the fugitive bun, it was accompanied by a most appetising aroma. That rabbit smelt absolutely delicious. We thought the "Meals on Wheels" people had turned up.

But, alas, we had to content ourselves with a nap by the heater instead of a rabbit-filled belly. As I was beginning to drift peaceably into sleep, I felt a cold, wet nose prodding me awake. It was Ewan, looking mightily concerned.

"Jasper." he said, "What's a leaflet?"

Oh, for fu-

Good night.