Sketches of Family Life

From Facebook

30 June 2009 at 19:52 ·

Fester's cut his head again - this time on an oak twig whilst removing our rotting front fence. He asked me to fetch the hammer to get a nail out and by the time I got back with it he was bleeding.

Squireen get him a safety helmet

Bentonbag He'd find a way of damaging himself on that

 

30 June 2012 at 17:23 · ·

Felix has caught a pigeon.

He has absolutely no idea what to do with the poor thing apart from chase it until it attempts to fly.

It wouldn't be so bad if he had the wit to eat it.

 

30 June 2019 at 09:52 ·

That bastard Fester is frying bacon! I must go ...

KW Hangover or diet?

Bentonbag Greed

This time last year the Kingsmen celebrated their 70^th Anniversary with a weekend of dancing and drinking.  We told Thunderthighs he was welcome to come along to any of the dancing or gatherings in pubs and meet our old friends, but he preferred to behave like this.

30 June 2019 at 18:59 ·

Yesterday Thunderthighs chose to come into the Bacchus, shout and leave - much to the consternation of those who know him (other than his parents).

Discussing this with his father this morning I ended my comments with "Twatt!"

"Harsh but fair" was the reply

Why harsh? What would you call it then?

"Pillock"

What's the difference between a Pillock and a Twatt?

"A Twatt has more of an air of menace about it"

 

So there you are: etymology as well as entomology.

McChurch I just wrote that down for future reference. I think "Ya tube" is at the level of "Pillock" on the scale. (For cultural balance).

Bentonbag We also decided "Wazzock" was at the lowest end of the scale.

Fayre Memory

In a normal year, today I would be recovering from and clearing up the aftermath of a school Summer Fair.  These normally land on the last Saturday of June.  This was how the day went one year.

29 June 2013 at 08:37 ·

To Treefield Summer Fayre - hope the weather holds, hope lots of people come and spend lots of money as we've lots of lovely stuff to get rid of

29 June 2013 at 16:58 ·

My feet ache after standing and selling raffle tickets for almost 3 hours non-stop.  Nice to see Bernard and dog - sorry you didn't win anything.  Went well, at least no major dramas or disasters.  Should find out how much we made on Monday

Bernard No worries & cool. Got a box of cupcakes for the Cumby staff tonight 😀

Bentonbag Confession time - someone brought a tin of cupcakes for the raffle AFTER we'd finished drawing it - so we drew another ticket but the person wasn't there - then we looked in the tin (it wasn't sealed) and decided that they would have gone off by Monday which was the soonest we could get them to him (and he'd already won something) so the committee and hardest working helpers hid in the office and ate them ... Is there an emoticon for naughty but nice?

29 June 2013 at 22:44 ·

So I asked Ferretfingers what he wants to do tomorrow, would he like to go to the seaside?  His reply "Mummy is very tired - I'm going to Tynemouth Market with Daddy."

So that's only two days' washing up, a load of washing to put in and hang out, and 3 loads of washing to iron then ...

29 June 2013 at 22:59 ·

I thought by being out all day I'd escape the weekly torment of the Guardian quiz - but no. Just gone in the bedroom to find the magazine on my pillow - and I'm pretty sure he's taken the crossword puzzle into the bath with him and will spring that on me too at bedtime.
I'd feign sleep but no-one can sleep through him bellowing at Ferretfingers to come up to bed.
Good night, sweet dreams.

Bentonbag (the next morning)  And after all that the bastard snored all night (despite the CPAP going full blast) so much that I took my pillow and duvet and camped out on Ferretfingers's bedroom floor.  He's now done the washing up whilst I reclined on the chaiselongue eating breakfast bacon butties, drinking coffee and reading a Maigret - and I don't feel in the least bit guilty.

Socks Talk

Ferretfingers’ festering leg last week probably wasn’t helped by the fact his socks were too tight and he has to be ‘reminded’ to change them. 

The reminder being me going and taking them out of his shoes when he’s in the bath.  The previous week’s cooler wetter weather wear of long trousers and high socks probably helped us miss how inflamed his wound was getting.

 

I thought getting him some trainer socks might help take the pressure off his ankle and shin, and make his wound easier to inspect.  On the next big shop in Sainsburys I got a pack of 5, size 8-12 white cotton trainer socks.  He tried on a pair, announced they were comfy and has worn a clean pair each day since.

 

I was initially dubious because many years ago his Auntie Bigsister gave him a set of trainer socks with a day of the week worked into each one. 

She hoped that, being autistic, he would appreciate matching the sock to the day and change them accordingly. However, being autistic, he couldn’t (at that time) cope with strange unorthodox socks that didn’t come up to his shin and fold over his ankle.  Also, he wasn’t obsessed with the days of the week.

It must have been when his feet were around size 6, because I ended up putting them in my sock drawer and am wearing Thursday’s today (rebel that I am).

 

Ferretfingers had terrible trouble learning how to put his socks on. 

He didn’t seem to be able to distinguish the back from the front;  so the heel always ended up on the top of his foot. 

I was putting his socks on for him for far longer than I thought appropriate.

Then, one day, in Asda, I spotted them.

Ladies’ socks, black with brightly coloured toes and heels.

What went where was so obvious he grasped the concept right away.

For some considerable time from then on I always got him black socks with coloured toes and heels.

Eventually he moved on to white cotton sports socks and has, mostly, worn them ever since; the right way around.

 

I still have some size 6 black socks with coloured toes and heels in my sock drawer;  but sometimes I have to wear mismatched socks as one half of a pair has worn out and gone to the charity shop rag bag.

Cat Tale #11 Shifting Jessie

As I may have mentioned previously Thunderthighs cannot rest unless both cats are safely in.  This makes Midsummer a particularly stressful time as they (and I) see no reason why they shouldn’t be out when it’s daylight and warm. 

Thunderthighs would have the back door bolted after the six o’clock news.

 

Cat life has become even more interesting lately as 2 tabbies have moved into, or nearby, our street.  Jessie, with a lot of black, and beautiful big eyes lives at No 7.  There’s also a tom, bigger with more white bits, we don’t know his name. 

Jessie and Felix have frequent loud conversations about whose territory our garage roof, drive and garden actually is. 

He has seniority and longer residency. 

She has chutzpah and feist. 

Teddy, surprisingly, sits and spectates on the side lines.

 

The other afternoon I went out on the drive and Jessie was there. 

A friendly little cat, I said “hello”, she came over for a chat. 

Then there came a yowling from Felix who was sitting on our wheely bin and peering jealously around the corner of the kitchen wall. 

Jessie gave him some back chat, then noticed the tabby tom strolling along the pavement on the other side of the road and was off down our drive after him like a shot cock (as my Mother used to say). 

Teddy bemused and curious made to follow but gave up.

 

That night when Teddy was snoozing on the chaise longue and I was enjoying a g&t, Thunderthighs came in and threw himself sighing onto the armchair. 

I asked whether Felix was in.

“No”

Well when I’ve finished this I’ll go and call him.

 

We made sure Teddy was shut up in the living room, I picked up the bowl of rejected cat-food for the hedgehog’s supper, and went up the garden calling Felix all the way.

The response was a duet of yowling from the garden fence.

Our shared fence is mostly trellis but the shrubs, trees and greenery mean there’s only one good cat-sized hole in it at ground level.

Felix was on the other side of this hole.

Jessie was on our side of the hole, with her back to him, bocking his passage and determined not to move.

They were both making their feelings audible.

I asked, pleaded and ordered Jessie to move.

Nothing.

Thunderthighs fetched the bag of cat treats and shook them.

Still no movement.

So I sent him to fetch a sports bottle of water.

I warned her but to no avail.

So I squirted water at her rear end and she shifted, off and away behind the garage in a flash.

 

Unfortunately some of the water splashed back onto Felix so he retreated to the other side of next door’s garden.  No amount of pleading and treat bag shaking could make him shift;  he just sat there, upright, paws crossed, with a reproachful look on his face.

In the end I had to go upstairs and lean out of the back bedroom window to call him:  presumably that way he could be sure there was no danger of being watered. 

He came through the fence and he and Thunderthighs galloped back into the kitchen.

 

I came upstairs and related the saga to Fester soaking in the bath.

“Yes, I heard you talking to them” he says.

 

It’s no wonder some of our neighbours think we’re mad.