I am so lazy that I can’t be bothered to go for a wee. Now that’s lazy. Told you I was lazy. I will in a minute but first I have to tell you how we’re spending our precious Bank Holiday Monday. Woke up and it was raining. Of course it was raining. It’s Bank Holiday. Fretted about some work I have to do. Got up and found Husband cooking sausages. Checked to see that neither of our cats Charlie, nor Lola had brought in any more amphibians, like they did again last night. They’ve got a thing about offering us dead frogs as gifts. Charlie, the ginger one is a bit clumsy and awkward, scrambling up walls, while his would-be prey are always long gone (I swear I’ve seen squirrels giving him the finger) but Lola, his sister is an absolute stalking, silent killer. She’s the feline version of the girl who has ariel fights, whisking through trees in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I know it’s an act of cat love but I’ve made sure her neck bell is extra loud, to try and give the poor little creatures she stalks, a chance to get away.
Lola was getting all frisky and excited, and after a quick check we discovered another frog playing dead behind The Girl’s toy box. Carrying out Frog Rescue was particularly annoying because Husband and I were watching Lust/Caution and we were waaaaay past the caution part and onto some majorly fierce sex scenes. ‘He’d have to have a nine inch penis to get into that position’ said Husband. I digress. We rescued the frog, put it outside and watched the rest of the film. It’s brilliant by the way and makes you realise how oddly vanilla and blandy bland most mainstream Hollywood films are. They don’t seem to use grown up people and any sex scenes always look like they’ve been directed for MTV by someone called Chuck who is 35 and wears a backwards baseball cap.
So today we promised The Girl we’d help her ride her bike. Took off the stabilisers and after some shrieking and comedy wobbling, she set off round the park, yelling and cycling. It was one of those seminal moments. Watching your child learn to ride a bike. Something we can look back on as a little glowing moment amidst the rows and boredom and washing up. Possibly excepting the part she ran over Husband’s sandalled feet and he shouted “FUCK!” very loudly.
Back home and now The Girl is downstairs watching Husband play Grand Theft Sweary Auto. Yes, not good, but it’s quite funny hearing The Girl piping ‘You’ve just crashed that stolen car again daddy’ and ‘Why did you shooted that man when he didn’t do nothing?’ rapidly followed by ‘You’re dead daddy.’ Like having a little Jiminy Cricket type conscience rattling away when all you want to do is play a nihilistic computer game set in a morally dead universe. Husband, fed up with her running commentary and wanting to get on with killing people has sent her upstairs to bother me now. She trotted in announcing that ‘Daddy has been shot by a big ass pimp.’ Followed by the question, ‘What’s a pimp?’ I sent her back to Husband. He plays the game he can explain it.