November 13th 2008
Aren’t men funny creatures? Why can’t they just tell the truth? Case in point: last night Iain says he and Brian, our lovely bro-in-law who is staying at the moment to work on the house, are popping over to a friend’s empty apartment half an hour away by the coast to measure up for some work that needs doing. They’ve been working all day here and I thought, ahh how conscientious to be bothered to show up after such a long day. Suspicions were aroused when they both came downstairs reeking of aftershave, freshly showered and spruced up, Brian with his hair gelled, in a white linen shirt (you wear white at your peril here at the mo) jeans and loafers and Iain looking no less dressed up than if we were heading out for supper.
Me: What time will you be back?
Him: Dunno, later.
Me: Are you coming straight back or going for a drink after? (I didn’t mind, honest)
Him: Weeellllll, we are popping out for a pint to watch Mike (our plasterer) practise with his band.
Me: Hmmm where is he playing?
Him: Well he’s only practising in the downstairs room at Sullivans (a lively little open-all-hours pub in Mandelieu which specialises in Guinness)
Me: So if he is only practising, why does he need an audience?
Him: We are going along to give him moral support (which has to be the best excuse I’ve heard for going for a beer possibly ever.)
Ten minutes after they left, the girls and I are hunkered down on the sofa watching The Dog Whisperer when we all hear a loud scratching sound and high pitched squeaking coming from upstairs. My first thought is it’s a rat. One of the reasons we got rid of our walnut tree next to the house is because at night when you heard crunching and shone a torch up to watch the cute red squirrels having a midnight feast, what you actually saw was a big fat rat with a fleshy tail tucking in right above your head. Livvy said, I’ll go and have a look and the worst thing is, I let her! She was too scared to go upstairs and what kind of a parent am I to let her even if I do have a pathological fear of all things mouse-y and ratty. So I went up gingerly, throwing open doors one at a time like Cagney and Lacey and found Spike, our Abyssinian cat locked in Brian’s bedroom. Oh the relief.