This began as a tale of two gay men, a cat and an octogenarian. It's not a sitcom but I'm not entirely sure it's real life. As a couple we realised we had a choice: either write about life with the grumpy old dwarf and try to see the funny side or bump him off and put him in the skip outside next door. Since that time we have moved on ... 7 years later I came back to update things! So now there are two men, two dogs and a bungalow in Barrybados.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Thoroughly Modern Silly (or Truly Madly Dippy!)

His shingles have been exacerbated by his new routine of spraying the carpet in his room with an industrial strength flea spray. Despite the fact the cat does not have fleas (we’ve checked), he claims he is being bitten (it’s actually the first signs of shingles but does he let anyone look!?)

The spray comes in a toxic yellow canister and says the room must be well ventilated but he never opens a window – god forbid fresh air should disturb his funk. He stays in the room with the foul chemicals and forgets the bit about hoovering up the residue – Richard vacuumed when he was in Birmingham and said he believed that he hadn’t cleaned that room since he moved in there last year. Well he’s very busy – the telly doesn’t watch itself, you know!

Contained within his own environment we are not happy about his spraying but having explained the risks it is his decision. However, he has now gone one stage further.


I get tired after work and take a little nap. In my dreams I hear a sort of “puff piff” sound. It mingles in my dream and then I hear it more loudly and wake up. It is pitch-black. I lie still but can still hear the “piff puff” noise. Suddenly a blacker hump rises from the foot of the bed.

'Jack?!'
'Oh you’re in.'
'Jack, what are you doing?'
'I was spraying the carpets' (I am two floors above his room so he has made one hell of a climb just to poison me!
'In the dark? At 10pm!' I say as I look at the luminous figures on the clock through a mist of flea spray.

I feel like Miss Dorothy battling Mrs Meers in Thoroughly Modern Millie. Is he trying to kill me or just knock me out for the white slave trade – I can’t see a wicker hamper anywhere so perhaps I am safe. In a permanent tribute to Beatrice Lillie, I imagine driving knitting needles through his head as he wombles off and I’m sure I can hear him say “Oh, pook!”

Like a fat super hero who can’t get into his lycra anymore, I crawl naked towards the door panting ‘Must get… oxygen…’ I'll check the flea spray can for details of kryptonite later.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

A woman awakes and hears 'Pitter patter, puff puff. Pitter patter puff puff'. Creeped out, she wakes her husband (why are jokes always told with traditional couples?)and he gets up to have a look.
The noise gets louder as he heads towards the living room. 'Pitter patter, puff puff. Pitter patter, puff puff'.
He flings open the door, turns on the light and shouts 'Who's there?'
Then he sees a mouse atop the radiator blowing on his hot paws after each few steps.