Friday, 30 April 2010

Crapston Villas.

My furniture has been in storage since last September, but now the house is almost back to normal, we've started bringing it back. Yesterday, the sofa, bookcases, and a few boxes of books, DVD's, and video's were returned. I should have sorted through it all before my life was buried in a container in Horsham, but I didn't, so I went through the films yesterday, and chucked out a few that haven't been watched for years, and are never likely to see the light of day again. I made a small pile of stuff I didn't want anymore, while Ted worked hard on constructing a perfect, lifesized replica of the space shuttle from the cardboard boxes the stuff had been stored in. It was almost pleasant, the mafia were asleep in the garden, and here I was with my boy, who was fully occupied, and not chewing my ankle in his never ending attempts to get at my tibia. I've had strong words with Ted about the fondness I feel for my tibia, I've explained how helpful it will be when he's old enough to go out for walks, and how sad I'd be if it ended up under the willow tree, along with my hairbrush, three odd socks, a cucumber plant label, an assortment of pegs, two flowerpots, a parsnip top, one fatally injured iPod charger, a plastic, headless US marine, and a two litre milk bottle, but it isn't sinking in just yet.
After two hours, of polishing the bookcases, and neatly arranging the books and films, I stood back to admire my hard work, and looked down at Ted, who was curled up fast asleep in his bed. I had a very brief, ahhhhhhhhhh isn't he sweet moment, but I'm a firm believer in the, let sleeping dogs lie theory, and I reckon it applies ten fold to puppies, so I left him to dream of flying his space shuttle to a previously undiscovered universe, and if I'm totally honest, I really wasn't bothered if he'd be home in time for tea. Well he was home by tea time, and as Mr Sleepyhead stumbled out of bed, I saw he'd been snoozing on top of a video I'd thrown out. It's called Crapston Villas....the irony:O)

Thursday, 29 April 2010

The early pup catches the bird.

Ted is obsessed with the top of the washing liquid bottle. It's a white plastic thing, with rubber in the middle, and he charges about the place with it in his mouth, looking like a kid with a dummy. He'd been playing with the dummy after breakfast this morning, so I didn't think too much at first, as he flew in from the garden with something in his mouth, until my pre-coffee brain registered that what he was carrying was brown, and not white. It had to be a fossilised cat turd, and I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to deal with removing that from his mouth at 7am, because I knew he wouldn't give it up without a fight, but I might as well get it over with now, or pay the squitty price later on. Into the sitting room I went, trying very hard to control my gag reflex, because I really don't cope well with cat crap, to be greeted by Ted, with a full grown, very much alive, male sparrow, being held in his mouth. No idea why I asked him "what have you got there?", when it was very obvious what it was, but I did, and I think it was more relief that I wasn't going to have to pry something out of his mouth that had come from the rear end of a cat than anything. How do I get him to drop it? I can't just pull it, and no way is this smug Spinone pup going to relinquish the prize that has finally set his little paws on the first rung of the ladder to Don status, so I grabbed his pink dolly (who he hadn't seen for almost 24 hours, due to her having major abdominal surgery) and he put Mr Sparrow down, then grabbed hold of dolly, and loved her like a sailor who'd been at sea for six months. Mr Sparrow was completely unharmed, and hopped up onto the window, waited for me to open it, then flew straight out, with me yelling at him to buy a Lottery ticket.

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

Ted goes to the vets.

The boy is a drama queen. He went to the vet yesterday for his first vaccination, and a health check. He was so flat, and shivering in the consult room, the vet thought he was ill. Yeah right, this little bugger is so ill, he's spent the morning swinging off the mafias ears, disembowling cushions, digging up the cucumbers I'd just planted, humping his pheasant, not to mention the "accident" with the washing machine hose, that I'm still not quite ready to talk about. If this is a sick pup, praise the Lord I didn't get a healthy one. After a thorough examination, and probing with thermometers ( that went down worryingly well, and seemed to be the highlight of the whole experience) the boy was declared disgustingly fit, and weighed 8.4kilos, so was duly given his first shot, which he took like a man, a man who had just had a scaffold pole shoved in his neck. Ted did a lot of puking in the car on the way home, then marched in through the door, with body language that said, pfft, I laugh in the face of vets and their pathetic blue needles, to be greeted adoringly by the mafia. So there you have it, the boy will never become the capofamiglia they need, but he's a fairly decent excuse for a thug, when he's safely on his own turf, with blankey and dolly for back up. I felt guilty telling the girls he was a brave boy, but I figured they will work the truth out in their own blonde time.

Monday, 26 April 2010

Ted goes skateboarding.

I fed the mafia their breakfast in the garden, and gave Ted his in the kitchen, then once he'd finished, I opened the door for him to go out and offload. The girls came in to see if he'd left anything, and he did the same with their bowls. I came indoors, and left Ted to do his thing in the garden. I heard this awful clattering, and thought he'd just tripped over a bowl, so I ignored it, but the noise got louder and louder, and wasn't stopping.
Ted, had got a front leg in Madges bowl, and was skateboarding across the concrete, and it was obvious from the expression on his face, and the startled looked that had sent his eyebrows half way down his back, that he didn't know where the brakes were. The harder he tried to get his leg out, the faster he made the bowl go. By now the mafia had come outside to investigate. Pie was in awe of Ted's ability, and was blatently dying to have a go, but Madge had that, I need to lie down in a dark room, and please keep me away from sharp objects look about her.
A very large tree root finally finally brought my skateboarding boy to a halt, and I was almost tempted to pick the traumatised little bloke up and cuddle him, until I remembered he owed me a shoelace, besides which Madge was mid-meltdown, and needed me more.

Saturday, 24 April 2010

A gallon of poo & a thank you.

The excitement, travelling, change of water etc, finally caught up with Ted's guts on Thursday night, and I woke up in a squitty minefield. Wouldn't have been too bad, but the floorboards upstairs are bare until the new carpet's laid, so quite a lot of "the excitement" dripped down through the gaps in the boards. There's no way I can get it out, so it will sit above my kitchen ceiling for all eternity, or until some archaeological dig discovers it in a few hundred years, and wonders why people were still building houses out of shit in 2010.
The Mafia are still undecided about the new recruit. Madge has adopted the children shouldn't be seen or heard approach, whilst Pie sits with a very vacant look in her eyes and just gazes lovingly at him. They both hate the fact that he gets fed four times a day, but are more than happy to wash his face when he's finished eating. Ted, on the other hand, adores both the girls, and as the days go by, I'm beginning to see real Godfather potential in him.
Ellie. Thank you for the lovely card. The picture looks just like Ted. He's going for a health check, and his first vaccination next week, so I will discuss some of the glaringly obvious problems you spotted with the vet. xx

Thursday, 22 April 2010

Back to The Future.

No puppy is this good are they? Ted will never make Godfather at this rate. He travelled home for an hour and a half without puking or peeing, suffered The Mafia's cold wet noses up his bum, ran around for a while, respected the cats desire to play NO part in his life, ate, pee'd and pooped, then crashed out in his bed at 11pm, and woke up at 7am. It has to be the calm before the storm, but I'm loving it. Ted is beautiful.
So, Netis Back to The Future is now part of "The Family".
Annette, thank you so much, not just for Ted, but for all your support during Dooza's illness, and your kindness after he'd gone.
If you're looking down Kite Boy, I know you'll be smiling. I promise you these soft little feet will run all the miles, yours didn't get to run, and will continue the adventures you left x

Tuesday, 20 April 2010

One more sleep

YouTube - TedandTheBlondeMafia's Channel

I've never been so nervous in my life. I'm convinced I'm in labour, and have been up since stupid o'clock, cleaning every square inch of this house, in preparation for Ted coming home tomorrow. Hell, I even found a can of polish, and for reasons which are probably quite obvious to consultant psychiatrists, I polished the loo seat. How mad is that? Anyway, I performed a triple Salchow on my glass like throne, which was worthy of at least nine points, and I'm sure the pain will subside after a day or two on opiates.
Was another lovely day for walking The Mafia. Pie got in her first swim of the year, and I really must remember to take Madges arm bands next time we go down to The Mole.
I wish it was this time tomorrow.
Breathe, pant, push.

Monday, 19 April 2010

Monday morning & mealworms.

YouTube - TedandTheBlondeMafia's Channel

Mr and Mrs Fairman, and the microwaved Aye-aye are proud members of The Caravan Club, and Mr, spends most of his life cleaning and polishing his beast of an RCV, whilst perfecting his comedy routine. They must have gone off on their travels, because "the sheep" and I got off on our walk without bumping into him, which was just aswell, because I was seriously not in the mood for him today.

I was up at 6, and wanted to take the mafia out early, as I had lots to do. I left the pair of them in bed while I fed the chicken (who's in "hospital" in the attic, until she is better), and sorted out Pella, the senile old cat, who spends most of her life asleep in the bathroom. I delivered room service to the hen of corn, mealworms, Weetabix, and some chopped up lettuce, opened a sachet of foul smelling fishy stuff for Pella, checked the snoring Spins, and went and made coffee.
Five minutes later, two sleepy girls arrive in the kitchen, so I opened the door to let them out for a wee, and noticed the distinctive smell of cat food as they walked past. Went back upstairs to refeed the cat, and looked in on hen, and apart from a few grains of corn, her entire breakfast was also inside two bloody Spinones.
Then the man who's just moved in next door felt the need to say goodmorning, so I grunted, and wished Mr and Mrs Burb still lived there. They were far more entertaining. Mrs Burb wasn't well, and often told the entire village what she thought of Tony Blair, and his cabinet (who between them have apparently sired every illegitimate child worldwide) out of her bedroom window. When the weather was warm, she'd wander down to her shed stark naked except for a pair of pink slippers, but as Mr Burb had an aversion to cutting the grass, and Mrs Burb was very short, her modesty, and my gag reflex were fairly well protected. So yeah, I miss Mrs Burb, and would swap her anyday, with her pressure washer obsessed replacement, who is far too cheerful on a Monday morning for my liking.
I also decided today that I hate Henry, he came to live here after Mr Dyson choked to death on plaster dust, and rubble. Henry is not as obedient as Mr Dyson, and is completely incapable of walking in a straight line. My dislike of him is slightly irrational, but I don't care, his inane smile is all the reason I need, for hoping he's soon gasping his last on a diet of spinone hair and mortar dust.

Friday, 16 April 2010

Aye-aye. (5 more sleeps)

Why does Mr Fairman think he's destined for a career at The Comedy Store, based on his daily, " blimey,you walking those sheep again?" But worse than that, why do I always say YES? Why don't I say, don't be such a knob, and BTW, why does your Papillion look like a microwaved Aye-aye? Never mind, tomorrow's another day ;O)

Anyway, the mafia had a lovely walk, and as far as I'm aware, all the local wildlife remain intact. It makes it so much easier when I don't have to dodge the new gamekeeper, who is actually a nasty piece of work, and nothing like the Mellors character in Lady Chatterley's Lover, I dreamed he would be.

So, we're wandering down this path,almost home, and Pie L'ardarse is plodding infront of me, with Dippy Dinsdale just ahead of her, and I'm off with the fairies, looking at Pie's bum thinking she's losing some of her excess poundage, and feeling very happy not only about that, but also how nice it is to be taking two clean dogs home, when I realise Dippy is no longer on the path, she's in the frigging ditch, up to her knees in mud and frog spawn. Anyone got Annette's phone number?

Thursday, 15 April 2010

Pikeys and padlocks. (six more sleeps)

The house is being renovated. We started doing it last September, just before Dooza got sick, but once he became unwell, everything got put on hold, then after we'd lost him, we'd also lost our enthusiasm, so nothing really got done until the end of February.
Then the plumbers moved in, and ripped out all the radiators, and replaced them with original Victorian ones, which look really nice, but kill your arse when you sit on them. All the old rads, pipes, a couple of cast iron fireplaces, and aluminium flue liners, have been stored (dumped) behind the side gate.

One day last week, this dirty, stumpy little geezer knocked at the door, and told me he'd been asked by the builders to come and clear the rubbish. What rubbish I asked the grubby, vertically challenged one. The scrap behind the gate....shall I show you? No need to show me, I know perfectly well whats behind my own gate, and you aren't having it, but I'll sell you a bar of soap, if you promise to bugger off. I didn't give him the soap, but he did leave, and apart from wondering how he knew my treasures were there, I didn't give it another thought, until today.

Came home from walking the mafia, and was just making coffee when there was a knock at the front door. Well, the mafia were going nuts with the barking they usually reserve for the DHL man. That, let me at your testicles kind of bark. By the time I'd got to the door whoever it was had gone, so why were the girls still in full we want balls for lunch mode? I looked again, and bugger me, I had a pikey up my back passage,(never a comfortable feeling) over my six foot gate, dancing around on my old rads. I think I said something like, "good afternoon sir, may I help you?" To which my uninvited guest replied, " I'm not doin' nuffin, I'm a builder, working on a flat roof round the corner." Oh, silly me, I thought you were an effing pikey, trying to nick my scrap metal. " Oi !! yelled the soon to be castrated intruder, you can't call me a pikey, I'll report you." At this point hysteria took over, and in between thanking my maker for Tena products, I tried to explain as rationally as possible to the travelling gentleman ( who'd become strangely static), that I could call him whatever I chose, as he had failed to introduce himself before breaking into my property, with a view to stealing my treasures. I suggested that now would be a good time to leave, as the mafia had worked themselves up into full Spin gloop frenzy, at the thought of the tasty snack I'd promised them. He agreed, and exited my back passage (ahh the relief), walking quite rapidly, past Madge and Pie, (who I'd temporarily renamed Tyson and Kaiser) pulling bits off the cottoneaster in a final act of defiance as he went.
I now have a padlock the size of Big Ben on the gate, Tyson and Kaiser had to make do with chicken wings, but the main thing, is, my treasures are safe!!

PS. Six more sleeps:O)

Wednesday, 14 April 2010


Took the bloody hen to see an avian specialist in Horsham today. She's got egg peritonitis, and the idea was, that the amazing Alberto Rodriguez would spay her tomorrow. Poor old Sprout is turning out to be a real roasting tin dodger, she's been booked in for PTS twice since January. Both times I've cancelled the appointments, because the first time, we got snowed in, and the second time, she rose from her death bed, and made a recovery that Jesus would have been impressed with. Apart from a slight wobble on St Valentines day when she spent hours squeezing something out of her bum, that wouldn't have looked out of place on the set of Alien, she's been fine until last week. Anyway, after weighing up the pro's and cons, I decided against the spay, and Sprouty is now the proud owner of a contraceptive implant, which should prevent her little chicken self, producing any more eggs, and fingers crossed will cure the peritonitis. In the meantime, the Paxo is going out of date, and I'm not only doubting my sanity at owning a barren hen, but trying very hard not to work out how many eggs and chicken breasts I could buy with the £103.89p that todays vet consult cost.

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

The Blonde Mafia.

The Girls.


Got up really early, so I could knacker the mafia, as I had to take my hen to see a vet down in Sussex.
I was only gone for a few hours, but they were both so good, and I had nonie noses squashed against the bedroom window when I got back:O) Bless the mafia, they didnt even eat the cat while I was out.

I need to make a puppy gate to stop the girls either encouraging boy to climb the stairs, or chucking him down them, once theyve got bored with dressing him up and plastering his everso ugly face with makeup. Me and saws dont go together too well, but if Douglas Bader could fly a plane without legs, walking three Spins, after a few minor amputations should be a piece of piss. I cant even knit ffs, and I'm sure I should be. What kind of parent am I?


Kate Rusby. Underneath the Stars.(clicky)

I have mixed feelings starting a blog that isn't going to be about Dooza. It's been four months since we lost him, and the truth is, it still hurts alot.
So, before we welcome Ted, this first post is for our precious boy. To thank him for sixteen months of fun, love, laughter, and even the tears, pain, and emptiness that are the inevitable price we pay for loving.

Netis It's a Mystery.
Loving you huge Boody. xxx x

Underneath the stars I'll meet you.
Underneath the stars I'll greet you.
There beneath the stars I'll leave you.
Before you go of your own free will.
Go gently, Kite Boy.