Um, first catch your bear of choice. Then kill it. (Yuck!) Then butcher it. Then run out of all other edible bits before it goes off. Then decide which bits of offal to eat first.
Mind you, I don’t object to a bit of chicken, duck, lamb or even at a stretch, pig liver. And I know it’s morally wrong, but fois gras is lovely. I did once spin a tale for a friend about all the ducks and geese in France being cared for in transplant farms when most of their liver had been taken for food and they were living out lovely retirement regrowing their stumps of liver. She didn’t know whether to half believe me. Not enough to eat any. But almost.
This really is the most disturbing tangent that this thread has taken do far.
Ssssue,
One adult adopting another is called Marriage. You should have worked that out by now. Why do you think it’s a legal process? It’s to ensure that a sizable proportion of the population have a responsible adult for the remainder of their natural. The responsible adult is the one who didn’t propose.
And as for the spare accommodation at Durer Towers there are only 753 bedrooms and they are all being redecorated at the moment after a nasty infestation of rhinos. If they haven’t had their toenails clipped it can play havoc with the Axminster. Especially on the stairs. And the bathroom tiles. Scared the cr*p out of our cat. Literally.
Try to relax and think calming thoughts about the coming Eden that will be the IoD, or unicorns, according to your wont.
As you can tell from the heading it is the last day in Hi De Hi, we will be safe & sound at home tomorrow (hopefully). Usual morning routine, bit different this morn, bloody typical, the sun is out, had it have made an appearance earlier in the week I’m damn sure it all wouldn’t have been quite so bad, not fantastic, but bearable, that’s sods law. Mr Dc was whistling to himself, bent over & whittling away at what looked like a small box, bit like a coffin I thought. " Who’s died?" I enquired, laughing, " nobody yet, I’m working on it" bit of a grin there I detected, I decided to leave him to it, however I did clock a large array of tools on the ground, including an axe, bit worrying that 1.
A certain film sprang to mind, checking the laptop I was relieved to find he had not been typing away ‘all work & no play makes Jack a dull boy’ or was shouting REDRUM repeatedly, I reckoned I was safe. I have always had a bit of an imagination, bit of a dramatic image this 1, I apologise.
Tonight I will be seeing 1 of my fav tribute bands (hence holding out & not fleeing home all week), besides the tickets were rather expensive & I hate waste. Mum, 72, decided that Hells Bells (band name) was for her, she had purchased a denim jacket (couldn’t wait to see that) & was looking forward to the night of headbanging & burst eardrums, she really was warned. Mr Dc must be absolutely ecstatic, his reference to preferring his eyes were being poked out & would much rather have his a**e rubbed with a brick than the nights entertainment was mentioned, a lot. Between him & my Mum I was determined to have a good 1, bolloxs to the consequences.
The day progressed slowly (always does when something is planned I feel), Mr Dc didn’t come through the can’s door, using the axe declaring ‘here’s Johnny!!’ so I figured we would make it to the venue. I decided that the refreshment (liquid) needed using, to lighten the load for tomorrows departure (besides I was losing the will to live, I was that bored & the ‘coffin’ Mr Dc had produced was far too small, unless I was to be chopped up, with the axe…) enough of that. I blame the sun for my drunken state, the shock of it’s appearance (& injustice of it now) was too much. Well, how we laughed (I did, Mr Dc was a tad more aloof), trying to put appropriate attire on a woman, that can’t stand up, kept declaring undying love for one’s spouse, axe was still in my head, not literally) & generally being a pain in the a**e (more so than usual). It wasn’t such a big deal, I had brought my wheelchair, so I couldn’t actually fall over, could I? Silly man.
Rock chick Mum turned up, she’s drunk was her comment, that was the understatement of the century. Anyway, we did get to the venue, watched the band, Mum was in total shock, for all of their performance, can’t be sure if it was through pleasure or horror, but considering her age I thought she held up well, (she refrained from head banging I’m very glad to report, very glad) even Mr Dc managed to wiggle something, so all in all a good day, I wasn’t murdered, Mr Dc kept his patience & Mum’s hearing aid has been ordered & is on it’s way & hopefully the ringing in her ears will calm down in time for christmas.
There is only 1 more memoirs of a mad woman left, if you can bear to read anymore, I will conclude tomorrow, promise, end of…
Hmmm, I suppose I kind of proposed to him. And it’s always been obvious who is the responsible one in this household. It’s the one who can still stand up unsupported, and walk. Properly. Lucky for me. I think just for once in my life I actually did something sensible and married that rare creature, a genuinely good man. Who everyone (except my mother, but that’s another story) loves. It’s never occurred to me before that marriage is a form of adult adoption, but it makes total sense. How strange. Sense from Mr Durer.
Fortunately, you hadn’t written this instalment of Mr and Mrs Dc go ‘tin camping’ before Mr Sssue had put his foot down about the number of sweary, drunken females allowed to reside in this house. (Obviously from time to time that number does increase, one has to have friends after all!) If he’d been apprised of this instalment it would have just added weight to the veto.
Personally, I can hardly bear to have the saga ended. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the tale. And the way you’ve spaced it out has kept us all on tenterhooks. ‘Will Tracey get drunk again today?’ (Probably!) 'Will Mr Dc still love Mrs Dc after this trip? (Again, probably, he seems as much a recidivist as Tracey, hence the provisions for the trip!) Will Tracey survive another visit to the shower block? (She may try and shirk it on the grounds that tomorrow she’ll be home to the land where getting clean actually results in a cleaner person!) Will Mrs Dc fall over? And will Mr Dc fall over trying to pick Mrs Dc up after imbibing lots of beer? (Probably to both!) And other such ruminations.
Frankly Tracey, after the last week of your camping trip, we all know you reasonably well.
And what we know of you is kind of loveable, in a sweary, drunken, stumbling, bumbling way. But then I might have been describing me. So it’s really unsurprising. (I think Mr Dc is rather lovely too!)
4.30 AM my repose was disturbed, rather roughly I thought, Mr Dc declared “I’m ready”. I would have been joyful if it wasn’t the fact dawn hadn’t broken yet & a slight headache from drinking 10 + pints last evening. " I’ll stop here, just tow me home" it was more a begging request than statement. “I’m not doing jail, it’s illegal” considering the amount of times he has mentioned murder this week, I find that declaration rather stupid. I was allowed to have a coffee, think the mention of being sick in Tank 2 might have helped my case. I was impressed how quickly he had packed up (I did my bit yesterday, I had emptied the fridge, in hind sight, I really wish I hadn’t.) We were already hitched up & the engine was idling, waiting for me, again. The journey home was in silence (I was asleep), but fair dues, he made very good time (glad I had fallen back into my drunken coma, I dread to think how fast he was going). When I managed to open my eyes we were already back in familiar territory, the home straight, the last week was beginning to be a dream (nightmare) in the past.
Pulling up outside our front gate, I could see Mr Dc had a tear rolling down his cheek, the wild look in his eyes wasn’t quite so pronounced, happiness was apparent. He leapt from Tank 2, (forgot about me) & kissed the doorstep (bit weird I thought, neighbours could have been watching if it wasn’t for the fact they would still be sleeping), the lawn angels were a bit OTT though, he had certainly lost it. Composure regained, back to reality. Needless to say, we have had plenty of time to reflect on (his) holiday planning skills, in future, I’M doing it, hotel, spa, nice food & (maybe) less of the liquid diet, (probably not).
Mr Dc is doing well, he is down to 4 days a week counselling, has come out of the corner & has stopped grabbing invisible shapes in front of him (the landing light will stay on for the fore seeable future though) & the night terrors are only occurring 3 times a night when the sedation has worn off. The ‘can’ is on Ebay, opening bids starting at a £ ( a free denim jacket is included, only been worn once as is a selection of fishing tackle). Directions to the hedge between Trwysfynydd & Bala can be given by Mr Dc, buyer collects. Mum can still only be reached via text message as she can’t hear the telephone. Mr Daley is still trading, although he is in recovery after his operation to retrieve the key. ‘Friend’ is banished from any contact with Mr Dc for life.
All in all the week was emotional, memories will take time to be erased but we are on the road to recovery. I didn’t meet with my demise, although Mr Dc is still working on his box, I have confiscated the axe.
Thank you for taking time to read the saga that is based on fact, some of the characters names have been changed to protect their identity (Mr Daley knows who he is) My review of the site is taking a while to complete. I still love my country passionately, just not that bit of it. That’s it, done & dusted, I can hear your sighs of relief love you all. xxxxx