"He really loved kangaroo mince in the end," said The Mothership through her tears, the night she called with the news. Our beloved, deranged hound Bert had passed away at the ripe old age of fourteen or so (loving tribute here).
"Kangaroo mince? That sounds fancy."
"And it was proper kangaroo mince intended for human consumption, not the pet food stuff."
"Really? Don't tell me, it was on special?"
"Oh yes!" she perked up a little, "Only $1.99 a kilo!"
Yesterday she emailed me a photo of the gentle mound of dirt under which Bert now resides. I couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or cry but went with laugh in the end, because it was such an old Mothership thing to do.
I found my wedding ring nestled inside a Jamie Oliver cookbook. Looks like I'd used it to bookmark the Spring Vegetable Soup recipe then shoved it back on the shelf. What a bloody moron.
I received a Valentine's Day card from Peter Pan, our Dog's Trust sponsor dog. You may recall Peter Pan replaced Kenco, who died in a kennel brawl. Apparently Peter Pan loves rolling in seaweed at the beach but does not like people – you can visit him in Darlington but you can't touch. So I'll just admire him from a distance with his card on the mantlepiece.
I like the fuzzy effect they put on his photo. Combined with the tilt of his head, stern expression and stiff posture, he looks almost Victorian. All formal, like he's about to go off to war and this portrait will be tucked into the bosom of his good wife.
(Thinking of the folks back home xxox)