).
Well, this week hasn't gone quite to plan.
Late Sunday night Cyril returned home with his left ear mangled and bloody but with a certain swagger that said "You should see the other cat".
The upshot was that I postponed for a week my drinks meeting with James in lieu of a visit to the vet's which in the event couldn't be made til Tuesday night and then, in fact, wasn't made at all because Cyril was healing well. We've kept him in for the week which has meant dealing with all sorts of pussy protests, peeing up the bin in the kitchen and pooing on the kitchen lino. By the time he made it into the outside world again on Friday, Cyril was a cat tormented by his need for freedom and ready to take his case to the European Court of Feline Rights.
Tuesday was a heavy day of meetings and teaching at work whilst rain fell in sheets bouncing almost waist high from the pavement and then steamed torridly in the intervening periods of sunshine. I took some time at lunch hour to sort out last Saturday's non-delivery of our new wardrobe for the spare bedroom and last Sunday's ATM cock-up which left me with no money but forty quid deducted from my account. Each was successfully done but I could have done without the hassle. The day's pleasure came later on with an evening of drinking with Chris and a colleague of his. The major gossip there was that Chris has a new partner, Dirk, and that Thomas is history. All for the best, I'd say.
Having struggled with a few things that had gone wrong, it was nice when something went right this week and Sid, our neighbour, started work on painting the outside of the house. Sid is the sort of person for whom the terms "a character", "rough diamond" and "salt of the earth" were made.
He worked in the building and painting and decorating trade so he knows his stuff. But he doesn't half make a fuss about everything he does. He explains his every action out of existence and he moans. But he gets the job done - eventually. Mind you, he's the wrong side of two heart attacks and probably has incipient emphysema. His face is best described as lived in. He's got a set of teeth like the blasted stumps of some post-holocaust redwood forest and features like shattered glass.
He has no problems about Ross and I. Live and let live. But then, his life has probably not been easy. His wife is either of mixed race or is black. Their son, Stephen (quite a chunky hunk), certainly has a mixed heritage. He's probably in his early/mid 20s. I can't believe that mixed racial relationships were any easier in the early/mid 70s than they are now.
So, Wednesday, after an exhausting six hours of teaching, I got home to a bomb site of a house with flakes of burnt paint drifting everywhere from the back windows and all the furniture moved away from the windows to give Sid easy access. I hate upheaval on that scale but the end results will be good.
Thursday brought a work's outing to Regent's Park for a massed softball game.
I'm pleased to announce that my team (I say my because I was the
nominal captain) won - though it was amid controversy and accusations of
cheating (allegations which are totally founded in truth
).
Good fun was had by all. A number of my colleagues displayed a gratifying inaptitude beyond my wildest dreams. I did not disgrace myself. I hit the ball on each of my four inning. First time I got round all four bases; second and third times I was caught; last time I was run out in a desperate chase for the winning runs.
There were also a satisfying number of well-shaped, manly legs on display and a fair degree of cute bums made apparent by shirts and tracksuit bottoms. I caught a later Tube home than I'd anticipated because I escorted a pregnant colleague till she was on a direct Tube line home and it was dark when I emerged at my stop. More signs that the seasons are progressing.
Home to Rossi, who had had a fit of inspiration and had completely re-organised
the house during the day so I now do not know where anything is situated. Still
it's a sign that he considers this house just as much his as mine. Then it was
time for This Life on video. I set things up to watch it on video
because I'd missed the first bit by being out late. At the stroke of 10.15pm
Phil rings. The programme has just
ended and he wants to talk about it. I have to disappoint him.
Anyhow, it was fabby. I guessed Warren's return and knew that Milly and Egg would split (they were far too luvvy duvvy in mid-episode) but lots of things happened that I didn't expect and lots of things that I did expect didn't happen. Best event of the night. Milly slogging Rachel with a right hook. Great. I'll watch that moment time and time again. Also Ferdy and Lenny shagging in the toilets.
The down side is months without This Life and the knowledge that the third series just won't be as good. There's already stories in the press about the actors having attitude. And it's gotten just too popular. They'll have to tone it down. I probably won't watch it anyway. Huh. Who am I kidding. Of course I'll watch it.