I know I meant to be writing far more regularly that it would seem I have been. However I have mitigating circumstances that will hopefully gain me some breathing space. I have been looking after my brother's dog for him, whilst he is on holiday. Well, I say looking after, but I don't think the story that follows will have any readers beating a path to my door begging me to take good care of their beloved animal companions whilst they rest and recuperate on much needed holidays. I have to confess the day of my first entry, the X-men inspired day, should have raised warning bells in other, more sensitive-or perhaps just sensible-individuals than myself that perhaps this was going to end badly. You see, as we ( my two children and myself) entered our empty home, well empty except for the two dogs we assumed were guarding it with their lives, my daughter was attacked from behind by what appeared to be the living, breathing embodiment of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Until we realised it was my brother's dog. Once I had resuscitated my daughter ( I considered a sliver of xanax, but honestly I am not really a terrible mother for all my joking and decided an extra ice-cream would do just as well), I was able to ascertain that he had dug a hole -'The Great Escape' style- under the smallest patch of earth under an 8ft fence, enough for him to scamper playfully in the dark scaring the wits out of passers-by and then-oh what larks we have!-us. I should say the dog in question for all his dopey wonderful lovability is the size and shape of a small racehorse. So his looks are deceiving, to say the least. Anyway, not deterred by this failure to remove himself from our care to have some fun, he waited until Friday afternoon before he smashed through the panels of the other side of the aforesaid 8 ft fence and then gamboled playfully into the path of a passing car filled with such caring individuals that they not only hit him, they screeched off, hopefully, towards a huge speeding fine, or an encounter with something larger than themselves as well, just so I can believe that they, too, had the opportunity to join in the fun and games. Needless to say taking a wounded dog to the vet, with weeping children, being reassured that they will do all they can, leaving him there, going back to the small panel of women you have invited for an informal get-together to aid a younger relative's school project, takes a certain amount of dash and elan. I possess neither, so I just drank white wine, forgot to eat, waited for everyone to go and cried alot.
The children spent the weekend with their father, which is probably just as well, as I was a tear-soaked mess, but even a tear-soaked mess needs to eat. In states such as these I can highly recommend that you do one of two things. Number one, put some water on to make spaghetti in, whilst spaghetti is cooking, gently melt garlic which you have gently chopped ( Ok I am lying, I used my pestle and mortar to to smash it to oblivion) along with some anchovy fillets and a dash ( remember I am a bit reluctant to burn my mouth beyond repair) of chilli flakes into a generous slab of butter. Once your pasta has cooked, drain it, toss it in the butter, and use as much Parmesan to make you feel slightly better. The second alternative is to remember that you have halloumi and chorizo in the fridge that whilst you were selfishly guzzling wine like Henry the VIII in his heyday you had forgotten all about for your guests. Take and slice the halloumi into coin sized slabs, cut the halloumi into squares roughly the same size as the discs of sausage, and put sausage on to a baking sheet, topping with the cheese. Pop it into a hot oven until the cheese has browned and the sausage has crisped. Poke cocktail sticks through each and eat off a large enough platter so that you will have at least one other thing to add to your truckload of guilt. It has been revealed I enjoy the odd drink when I am happy, so I will leave you to surmise that these meals were also accompanied by more than a thimbleful of crisp white wine. Anyway, the dog is ok, apart from needing icecream or fillet steak in which to secrete his medication, and tomorrow I shall cook a proper dinner, and recount us back to the path of what counts for normal in these parts. Which I am sure by now you have realised is not very normal, but may, after all, be more entertaining for it.
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