Wednesday 20 May 2020

 Wednesday 20 May 2020

What’s the point of droning on about it? I went to bed and he—Max not Arthur—woke me up at least twelve times through the night. It’s lovely being able to wake naturally and get up in your own time, but I got up in a filthy temper at seven after being woken again.

He woke me at one to tell me that the man across the street was making a noise with his van.

At two, going for a cigarette.

Several times between two and five, turning over and pinning me down with his arm, or his leg or both.

And at five, when his hand touched my bare leg, and I thought it was Arthur and woke with a jolt.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just checking that you’re still there.’

I don’t want to sleep in a different bed, room, universe to my partner—I just want to be able to sleep.

Arthur was good last night I was only up to him three times, I think Max did four times but every time Max gets out of bed he has to go to the loo, and then he has to have a cigarette.

Is this all normal? Am I making a fuss about nothing? It feels big, probably a lot bigger than it is.

Max and Arthur were watching Not the Nine O’clock News, yesterday. There was a sketch about a footballer in a pizza Restaurant with a bag over his head because he’d missed a goal or something. Arthur can’t follow the simplest concept. He asks questions through every program at the rate of one every ten seconds.

‘What’s he doing? Why’s he dressed like that? What’s that bag on his head for—is it because of the disease?

For all of my bitching and complaining Max and I laugh a lot.

We were talking, as you do, about serial killers. 

Max said, ‘Well you can say what you like about Fred West—but he lays a beautiful patio.’

‘Are we getting him round to do some work then, Boy?’

I have a beautiful dining table. It was given to us by my landlord. The old house had a huge entrance hall with an intricate mosaic tiled floor. He’d pulled the table and chairs from one of his other houses and it sat in the hall for months. I had a modern table that I bought from a charity shop that wasn’t as nice. I asked him, as it wasn’t being used, could we bring it up to our flat and make use of it.

The chairs were filthy and covered in dust, but they cleaned up a treat.  However, the seats were stained and dirty. If I had my brain on I could tell you the designer we used, but it’s switched off and I can’t—but Max ordered some material- in cream—I’d have gone for green to match the room at the time—1920’s print with garlands and what looks like a peony rose design.  I wanted to do the upholstering, but the material for six chairs cost eighty quid, so I wasn’t trusted with that.  It was probably for the best, there’s no doubt that I’d have messed it up, or got the pattern wonky or not centralised and said, ’Oh, it’s near enough, that’ll do.’ Max did the upholstering and they are beautiful.

Roy was delighted when he saw it and said what a good job we’d made of it.

I was horrified when one day after a couple of dinner parties had been had on it. I went to give it a polish, pulled the tablecloth off it and saw a grey burn on the table.

‘Oh hell, what are we going to tell, Roy? We have to give it back to him when we leave.’

I worried about that burn for two years. We kept it covered until we moved to a new house. I use a thick brown beach towel as a base, then a tablecloth, then a central runner and when we use it, we cover it with place mats so there isn’t an inch of space where something even slightly warm can be put.

When we got this house, belonging to the same landlord, he brought up the subject of the table and chairs.

‘That’s yours now Sarah, because you’ve looked after it so well, I’d like to give it to you as a housewarming present.’

If only he knew.

Arthur has seen the burn. He found a bottle of Vic’s Vapor Rub and smeared it all over my table to try and polish it out.  Vapor Rub for God’s sake.

I had a lovely thing. It was more a lovely concept and I mention it because in these Covid19 ridden time it’s just as well that it got smashed.

On passing, in the dreaded TK’s one day, I saw an enormous goblet. It was glass and copper that looked like gold in the sun. The glass was an inch thick and it was a quality piece.  I said that I liked it and what I would to use it for. It was sixty pound and in the sale from a hundred and sixty. I would never have bought it in a million years. Sixty quid for a goblet that’s my car tax and internet for a month. This thing was huge and would take six bottles of champagne.

The next day it was gift wrapped and waiting for me when I got home from work. Max told me that he wants us to have all the nice things that we want from the world. I’m happy just knowing that the bills are paid. and we are okay.

When we have friends for dinner it’s an elaborate affair. I like dinner parties and it’s nice to have good friends round. Max cooks and we have the standard three courses with shots of Limoncello or some yucky liqueur. They run from early afternoon until dawn the following morning and we play quiz games and set up the karaoke, Max plays and we have a big old singsong. To date, there have been no complaints from the neighbours. I ask that the karaoke at least, goes off by midnight—but I’m an arsehole, apparently, and on one occasion three months ago when our friends Janice and Don were round, it was still blaring at three.

Early evening, we bring out an enormous cheese, meat and fruit board, with crackers, and chocolates and that sees us out with pickies through the night. That’s my job, I’m allowed to do the cheeseboard.

That’s when we bring out our ‘sharing cup.’ I’d fill it with either Mojitos or Daquari with lots of fruit and sprigs of mint, and we pass it around everybody like a joint. I think it’s a lovely tribute to friendship and closeness. We live partially on floorboards, but we had a hundred and sixty quid wineglass. Covid19 would have put a stop to our sharing cup ritual if Trevalion hadn’t.

My lizard loves my office, it is a place of great sunlight and mystery. It’s impossible to work when he’s in here because I’ll in be in the middle of an interview and he’ll climb me like a tree and sit on my head leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He is two foot in body with another three feet of tail and talons like an eagle, and he weights fifteen kilos. He does no end of damage and leaves trails of destruction in his wake. Max gives him the same greeting most days, ’Morning `Lion. What’s the point of you, `Lion?  Trevalion doesn’t go around things, he goes through them and has no finesse. My laptop is my work, real work, editing and for karaoke gigs and it’s on its last legs, and that’s without `Lion’s help.

He humped my goblet.

Bye, bye sharing cup.

 It sat around for six months, it’s bowl intact but the bases cleanly sheared away. Max was going to mount it on a plinth, but one of my ‘things’ is glued pottery and ornamental goods. When something is broken, it’s broken. If it gets repaired the cracks are always visible and even if it’s a miracle repair leaving no sign of damage. I know it’s there. The beauty of the thing is gone. Max took six months to get around to throwing it away, I couldn’t do it because it was a gift from him. I was glad. I was sad.

Yesterday we walked around Know-Tow Woods. It was beautiful—but we had Arthur, he can suck the beauty out of any picturesque walk.

As we pulled into the car park at the side of a pub he said, ‘I can’t believe I’ve been on holiday with you for a week, and you haven’t taken me to the pub yet.’

Here we go again.

Tegan is young. We haven’t had her long and she’s still in training.  She’s had fewer runs this week with me being ill and busy, Max is loath to take her without me. But I would resent having to do it without him, too so that works both ways.

Until she calms down and runs her energy off, she’s excitable. Tegan lives to play with other dogs. She adores dogs and children and her recall is good, until she sees a young child or another dog.  We can bring her back to a point, but if she’s closer than about fifty feet to the object of her excitement we’ve no chance. It means always looking ahead to see what’s coming before she does. We know she wants to play, but tell that to a young mother with a child in a papoose on her chest and a little one beside her. Tegan will hurtle towards them at breakneck speed to say hello. She’s big and intimidating and it’s taking work and patience to get her to stop it. She’s gone backwards with not getting out as much this week.

We took her out of the car, and she was bending double in excitement, squeaking, and squealing because she knew she was getting a run. We walked through the gate on to the narrow path through the woods and met a family with a staffie-type breed within the first minute.

Max pulled her to and told her to sit. She sat, quivering. The people were leaving as we were coming in so there was no chance to let Teagan off to play. We are trying to get her that she will sit quietly until people have passed.  She did until the dog was level with her and then it was all too much for her.

Max always shouts to other dog owners, ‘It’s okay, she just plays. She just wants to say hello.’ And if she’s on the lead he adds, ’but she’s on the lead so she’ll go nuts.’

Tegan strained at her lead barking her head off to play with the other dog. Max was in control of her and was using a calm voice to tell her to sit.  Teagan was on a rope lead two feet long. The staffie was on the other side of the path twelve feet away and the family smiled and passed a few words as their dog strained on it’s lead to get to Teagan. Neither animal was showing any aggression at all— they were saying hello, wanting to play, and it was loud.

Arthur jumped like a mad leprechaun and said, ‘Get him round that tree, boy.’ 

What he meant by that was using the tree to put her lead around to act as a lever to strangle her into the trunk because Max was clearly out of control and couldn’t hold her, and the dogs were going to kill each other if Arthur didn’t step in and take over.

He yelled at the other family, ‘Get your dog away. Get it away. Quick. Move the children. Get the children out of the way. Get Back. Get back.’ He was jumping around like an idiot and exciting the already excited dogs.  He picked up a fallen branch and started waving it at both dogs and would have hit either one within reach. One of the children started screaming which set the other one off. I was furious but left Max to deal with him and Teagan. I smiled at the family, said sorry and walked ahead.

‘It’s a good job I was there, then boy, that could have been nasty that could. I’ve had dogs all my life, I have. You just have to know how to handle them. I’ll get him trained for you. I’ll sort him out.

Fool.

And then on the way home he’s saying to Teagan, ‘Weren’t you a good boy today? You’re a good doggie woggie, aren’t you?’

The man’s a  liability.