Evening folks, today after a rather apathetic few weeks, due to sadness and loss I have decided to try and get cracking again and so to get the juices flowing have joined ranks with daily word prompt and FOWC . It’ll probably end up as a stream of consciousness which is another prompt as I’m fully aware but getting the link, etc, etc.
Anyway without further ado, let us talk. I must include Qualm and Myopic but not necessarily in that order.
We’ve got the Germans here, there’s a sleepover; my daughter, her best friend and two exchange students, thats 4 girls, plus Mrs T, my son and me plus the dog Benny, not forgetting the G-Pig Mr Popazakki, out in his luxury hutch. Well, it used to be luxury or at least was sold to me as so, until his now dead hutch mate, Razzle, smashed the place up in a drunken rage, high on a cocktail of carrot and Kale, curly, from Tescos. The stairway to the garret ruined and so the G-Pigs forced to live in the basement. This happened last autumn, and only just before winter set in and the G-Pigs came in side, well Mr Pop came inside, Razzle took a one way ticket to the Great G-Pig Home in the sky, maybe, but this could be a disputed fact of the day.
This morning as I was having a shower, in the downstairs shower, the one which is just ok, and rarely used due to the female wave of bathroom control. Now I have no Qualms to using the downstairs shower, in fact it was a wet room before everyone had them, all be it with uneven tiling on the floors which sent the water the wrong way, pooling near the exit, having to be swept plugway everytime a shower occurred. But when I’m left with the old washing products, the unwanted Christmas shower gels which tell me that this is the perfect gel to have after one too many mulled wines, that leaves me cold. I don’t particularly like Mulled Wine, maybe one or two at the Worcester Christmas Fair, but otherwise I can take it of leave it, mainly leave it. I imagine with a banging mulled wine hangover I’d be happy to just be wet and warm. As I was having a shower, a call of anguish rang from outside from Mrs T.
“Mr Pop is dead; he’s dead”
Maybe it was slightly Myopic of me to assume that Mr Pop would survive after the untimely death of his friend and lifetime companion Razzle, maybe the slowly ebbing away of interest towards the G-Pigs should have signalled the writing on the wall, the law of diminishing returns; one G-Pig is far less interesting than two.
But to give the kids their dues, the G-Pigs were looked after, they ate veg and biscuits, water and probably the odd dandelion head, they played on the lawn in an enclosure and they lived for a few years, not as long as C’s lived and are still living for, but that’s another tale for another day.