The bad BAD friend....apparently

Well, it would seem that I am a bad friend.  This was decreed before 8am this morning and I feel it is a somewhat unfair assertion bearing in mind I'm so great and everything.  I have experience of really bad friends.  Some CORKERS of bad friends.  Bad friends who've been sooooo bad I've spent hours fantasising over how I would wreak my revenge over the betrayal of friendshiply trust.  Much of this fantasising involves me becoming obscenely rich and paying hench-people to create ruination and misery.

....I kinda hate it when friends turn out to NOT be friends.

Anyhoo, as I said, I was decreed a bad friend myself before the day had even started.  I thought I was being honest and cute.  My housemate; The Tidiness Nazi didn't agree.  This is how the day started.

06:20hrs: Alarm goes off and I begin my hour of snooze button/waking up gently.  I say 'waking up gently' but I really call it my 'crying time'. I could never just hear an alarm and get straight up, I like to have a significant amount of time just lying and weeping gently up into the atmosphere.

06:40hrs: Second alarm goes off and my bald freak dog jumps from the bed and runs across the landing and into the Tidiness Nazi's room.  I hear the sound of her big dog jumping down from the bed and this usually heralds her getting up and letting 'the kids' out for a piddle.  There is no other sound...

06:55hrs: Third alarm goes off and by this time I am being driven mad by my dog constantly running in and out of the room crying and NO sound coming from the Nazi's room.  I am forced up EARLY which goes against every cell in my Being.  Not wanting to  be the one who has to tediously go ALL THE WAY downstairs to let the creatures out I choose instead to bang about and cough dramatically in a feeble and ill-planned attempt at subtly waking up my slumbering housemate.

NOTHING

07:01hrs: It occurs to me that the Nazi is dead.

07:03hrs:  After some consideration.  Well, 2 minutes of consideration and being at least 43% even louder and hearing nothing from the other room I decide to go and investigate.  Minus contact lenses, glasses and entering a darkened room I squinted my way across to the bed.  The Nazi isn't moving.  Yup, dead for sure; there can be no other explanation.  Now, at this point an unexpected thought kinda, sorta, accidentally popped into my head.  That thought?  The realisation that I'd be able to legitimately take the day off work (cough).  Hell, actually I'd probably be able to score a couple of weeks of unquestionable compassionate leave!  On reflection I accept that after poking my sleeping housemate with a stick, jumping back in fear and, laughingly explaining my thought process to her, I might have come across as a little bit uncaring and not as good a friend as she would hope for.  Hell, she should just be grateful she's still alive after all!

I won't say I was disappointed that I'd got another week of work ahead of me - that would be wrong!  Well,  I kinda was disappointed but not because she was alive, if that's what she was thinking.  That too would be wrong.  I'd have to find another way of getting legitimate time off work.  The whole 'trekking up the Himalayas to do good stuff for charity' thing didn't come off and pretty much everyone who I'd ever met - EVER,  mocked me for my laziness and uncharitable nature.  Also for my fear of monkeys, insects and frightening strangers.....and unrecognisable foreign food......and children.

The Tidiness Nazi lay in bed looking really quite angry for such an early time of day.

"Yeah, you'd LOVE it if I were dead wouldn't you?  I bet you were thinking of all the compensation you'd get!"

"What compensation?  I wouldn't get compo if you randomly croaked it in the night!"

"The house - I've left you the bloody house haven't I?  You'd get the house to do with as you bloody well please...."

(tutting and looking aghast - which I accept might have been the wrong facial expression to wear at this type of news) "Ah shit, but then I'd just have to spend  money I don't have doing the thing up so I could sell it and start living the dream"

....The Tidiness Nazi didn't find this amusing ONE. LITTLE. BIT.  What's the matter with her, she was still alive after all AND I'd taken the time to poke her with a stick in order to establish her living/dead status.  I could have just gone to work and had done with the matter. To be fair, if the dogs hadn't needed a piss she'd  have been potentially decomposing in her bed all day. I didn't mention that.

...I thought my side of the conversation was kinda cute and amusing (she grumbled).  I don't know what is the matter with people nowadays

DIE CAT DIE (The Tale of the Zombie Cat)!!!!

Dramatic title, eh?  Thought you'd like it.

Gonna share a couple of stories related to cats today.  The first is a cautionary tale and the other is bloody BRILLIANT in a horrible way but it happened to one of my colleagues and therefore it would be wrong of me not to share whilst laughing horribly behind her back.

 

Ok, first the cautionary tale:  My advice to everyone is, even if you think it's dead, NEVER poke a cat with a stick near a main road and some potentially cat loving children.  That's good advice - possibly the best advice you'll be given all day.

What happened?  Well, a colleague and I had to attend a community event with representatives from the local authority and police.  We were all sitting in a specially adapted vehicle with seats and a table awaiting the arrival of 'The Community'.  

No bugger showed .  

After a bit we were all a bit bored, bloated on tea and sick on biscuits.  Oh yeah, how's THIS for hurtful - I ruefully told the gathered agencies that the last time I'd been to this area my beautiful 1971 VW Beetle had tried to kill me by randomly bursting into flames as I drove it.  The police all laughed and advised that they'd 'just' been talking about it!  I'd never met any of them before so they'd just been laughing about it in general without knowing that me,  the poor driver, was about to show up.  They bizarrely stopped laughing when I told them I'd had an anatomically correct skeleton dressed as Santa Claus in the vehicle at the time which I'd had to pull out.  Laughing, I told them I'd been upsetting children by telling them Father Christmas was dead.  

[SILENCE]

I'm sure that's not a crime. I thought it was hysterical - how can you NOT laugh at that; miserable bunch of bleeders.

Anyhoo, one of the guys told us that there was a cat in a blanket around the corner and it had been there for hours.  My colleague and I went to have a look expecting to find a dead cat.  I did sort of look for a stick - if there's the chance of finding anything dead you HAVE to poke it with a stick just so you can scream and run away (no, I don't know why that's important either).  As we slowly approached the tatty looking thing  it did stir and look up but it certainly did not appear healthy.  I inched closer trying to display a  facial expression which would reassure a potentially sick/dying cat.  Clearly, my features didn't quite do it; the cat suddenly leapt into the air, across the car park and into the path of a speeding car. All I remember is the screaming of the child....

So, all we actually did for that community on this day was to force a child to watch it's beloved pet get killed horribly!

...Ah, I'm kidding - that was the FASTEST dying cat on 4 legs.  He made it to the other side of the road by the skin of it's teeth. 

Ok, here's the Zombie Cat story.  It's both horrifying and brilliant at the same time.

A work colleague (and former gym buddy) shared this with me and it's sad so we must read and digest this next bit with dignified expressions on our faces, ok?

It starts off with 'Gym Buddy' (GB) and her daughter discovering that their beloved cat had been run down in the street. They went to collect him in a blanket and, crying, bought him home in readiness to bury in their garden.  GB decided to dig the hole in the lawn so that the cat would be under the grass and in an area which would never be disturbed/dug up accidentally.  They buried him deep.

Next morning, to their horror the cat was lying on the lawn covered in shit, with it's guts liberally scattered around and it's head totally missing! 

[gag]

He was duly re-buried, deeper and with a large slab over the top.

...next day he was again on the lawn now both headless and with a leg missing.

GB put the cat back in his grave, poured bleach all over him (to mask any smell) and put THREE large concrete slabs over him.

It took a couple of days but the decomposing headless, three legged, bleach covered cat again reappeared on the lawn.  This time my gym buddy had enough and decided that they would bag up this beloved former pet and put him in the incinerator.

When her son came home he prepared said incinerator and lit it.  The flame shot up quicker than he expected which made him leap backwards

.....onto the dead cat.

Running around in horror, screaming like a shitty baby, the lad realised he'd never forget that squelching sensation for the rest of his life.  They said a little prayer and stuck the cat in the incinerator hoping that this would finally be the end of the tale and that they would never again be faced with the zombie cat who would not stay buried!

After a few hours GB asked her son whether the deed was done.

.....turns out the incinerator wasn't hot enough.  The family now have a headless three legged cat skeleton to dispose of.

The Paranoiac

So, I get home from work and the Tidiness Nazi's precious dog is in the house - but no Tidiness Nazi housemate!  Wherever she is, she's taken her car so I guess she's nipped to the shop. I love having the house to myself and would have loved to lie in bed for a bit but decided to have a quick game of 'throw the ball up the stairs' at the dog (just to show the arriving housemate that I do play with the creature despite it being the most aggravating hound on the face of the earth) but alas she does not return and I grow bored.
Then I read the paper.  Still no Nazi

I check my emails.  No Nazi

Hmmmmmm, where the frick has she gone? 

Asking myself a question was the fatal mistake.  It gave my unhelpful inner dialogue an opportunity to start talking to me and interfering.

Inner Dialogue: You know she's been murdered don't you?

Me: Wha?

Inner Dialogue: Murdered.  In fact, her body has probably been upstairs in her bedroom all this time. Hell, she's probably lying there in YOUR bedroom! You haven't been upstairs yet have you, you lazy cow?

Me: Erm...no I haven't. Murdered, really?  Bloody hell.  I don't really think that's what's happened.  I mean, she's just a bit late back that's all and anyway, where's her car? Eh, tell me that!

Inner Dialogue: ...so, you think she's been in a car crash then?  A fatal one?

Me: NO!  She's just a bit late that's all.

Inner Dialogue: That brings us back to her being dead upstairs.  You've been in the house now for the best part of 40 minutes.  Gives you plenty of time to have killed her.  You'll go down for this y'know!

Me: FUCK!  No, I've got an alib...

Inner Dialogue: ...alibi?  Have you, have- you- really?

Me: Yeah.  I've been at work.  I've spoken to people on the phone.  The police can check my phone records and see that at 4.45 I was in Carlton Road talking to Emma at the office.  They will be able to examine the dead flies and lava on her and know what her time of death was and I'm sure I'll be picked up on CCTV SOMEWHERE at that time.  They won't get me for this one, oh no siree...

Inner Dialogue: ...but the killer would want to get away with it so is bound to have planted some evidence that you can't explain that would point the finger at you.  You're being FRAMED bitch!

Me (panic stricken): Noooooooo; they'll never take me alive! I'd never survive in prison.....Actually, I'd love it in prison if they'd let me stay in solitary and never speak to another fucker ever again.  Think they'd let me have some books, paper and perhaps do some Open University and watch tv on my own?  Heaven, I'd be able to conquer my procrastination issues and get some comedy written.

Inner Dialogue (losing the upper hand): Hang on, you can't go down for this - she's a heroine, the papers said so years ago when all that stuff happened and the public would hate you for killing her - you'd be public enemy number one for AGES and the lags would be after you AND how would you do your Stand Up?  It'd kill your mother! 

Me:  Ok, I'll just talk my way out of it all.  I'll be ok 'cause the truth is on my side.

Inner Dialogue: Pah, you always assume that during cross questioning you would be able to go into a Zen like state, say nothing and you'd be really cool.  Now we BOTH know that you're more likely to  panic and confess to anything and everything before the 'bad cop' even enters the room with his scary Gene Hunt routine. 

Me: Yeah, I do confess to stuff I didn't do but I'd definitely 'do' Gene Hunt but only in Life on Mars.  He was a nob in Ashes to Ashes.  Really killed the charac....

Inner Dialogue: ....so what you gonna spend the money on?  The money you're bound to get in her will.

Me: C'mon, that's disgusting.  She's not dead.  I'd sell the house, pay off my debts, quit my job and move back to Brum.  I'm going upstairs to check she's not dead. 

She wasn't up there dead but then I got lost in reverie thinking about if I were murdered and what the coroner would find in my stomach.  All I'd eaten today was a chocolate milkshake, a Thorntons chocolate and a load of ice water.  I'd then thrown the lot up (I have shitty digestion).  When I'd got home I had some ice cream to take down the swelling from puking.  So that was it, my stomach contents would be ice cream and nowt else.  Bloody hell.  I then thought about the last clothing I'd worn - grey trousers, a grey polo neck and a long grey cardigan WHAT WAS I THINKING? I'd look shite on the CCTV clips being shown on TV plotting my last movements.  My hair was a mess too.  What photo would they use of me on the news?  Perhaps that one on my Facebook page showing my new hair; that's the last one but hell, should I change the silly picture I've currently got up there?  It's not very fitting for all the tribute (in the singular) I'd get.  Perhaps that shambolic Stand Up clip on YouTube would shoot me to fame in death (probably not). The CCTV would make me look fat in death too wouldn't it?  Well, unless it was CCTV taken from a flattering angle above looking down so you can see my cheek bones.  The Tidiness Nazi wanders in.  I'd forgotten she'd gone out with our friend Lynne to look at all the places that are supposed to be haunted in the town in order to create a historic ghost walk..

...I thought about being a ghost last night but I've been paraoid and weird enough for one day.

Tales of the dead

So, my dog died.  He was great actually, he loved being dressed up to look ridiculous to the point I had to spend many an afternoon photo shopping his erection out of the photos I was to post on-line.  Hang on, I'll post a photo of him:

Batdog - Scouser disguise

He was old and sick and whilst it broke the hearts of the Tidiness Nazi and I we had to send him on his way in the end.  Shit.  So, yesterday we took him to the beach to scatter his ashes in the sea.  It was supposed to be a beautiful moment but during this tender moment the tide lapped up around my legs and I ended up with a tide mark of sea water and dog cremains all around the bottoms of my jeans.  That was a precious moment for my memory bank. It put me in mind of when the entire family went to a lovely hill with my Grandfather's ashes, had one of those tender family moments where everyone has a laugh reminiscing about funny stuff the deceased has done, and then scattered him to the wind.

....which promptly changed direction and blew him back into everyone's eyes.  Terrible, it really was (she said, stifling a laugh).

Actually, that reminds me of another dead story involving the dog.  A few years ago the Nazi and I took him for a walk in the local park.  A bit further down the path and to the side there was a solemn group of people standing around a bush.  As we got near they sort of dispersed and walked towards us looking all sad and we realised they had scattered someones ashes around it.  The dog only went up and pissed all over the lot didn't he?  The horror of trying to shout quietly at a pissing dog so as not to alert the crying mourners was a nightmare of biblical proportions (she exagerated).  Looking back at the people, my eyes on stalks, hoping against hope that no one would look back was terrible.  On the way back later a little Yorkshire Terrier was pissing all over them too.  There's a lesson for us all, DON'T scatter your relatives ashes around a bush in a public park.

Here's another pic of the dog.  He's wearing Halloween teeth in this shot and this seems to be everyone's favourite pic of him.:

Halloween Teeth

Oh god, I've remembered yet ANOTHER dead thing to tell you about now!  A while back I learned that my Grandmother's ashes are in my mother's airing cupboard and have been there for bloody YEARS. 

My Grandmother

The family can't seem to find a convenient time or place to scatter them. More recently my Uncle Clive's ashes joined her.  Seems we have another aunt's ashes somewhere in the family too so I'm guessing that is my legacy.  A cupboard of dead relatives.  Niiiice.

The dead woman's case thing pt.3 - Bring Out Your Dead

Hello again. There's quite a bit of death in my travel diary today but I'll get to that in a bit.

....you want it now don't you? You awful lot. What is it with people and their morbid fascination with death? Talking about death (she said with morbid fascination) I had a weird head twinge this afternoon. It wasn't a twinge I was familiar with and so got lost in thought wondering whether I was about to have an embolism and drop dead at work which would be an awful place to breathe your last. My mind wandered to my underwear and I realised with a slight amount of shame that, having been away and not having fully dried my holiday laundry, I was down to the last dregs of my underpants and was in fact wearing some dreadful pink things with a run in them and weird faded patches. I then concluded that perhaps I was internally acidic and wondered how one becomes more alkali. After a while I came out of my reverie and noticed the weird twinge had gone so that was alright then. No death for me today, no siree!

Oh yeah, the work colleague who had the 'arse' with me couldn't keep up the pressure she'd put on herself and broke down to be nice to me. I'm quite upset really, if yer gonna decide you've got some principles then bloody stand by them and give me the evil eye, stand with your back to me, ignore me, just don't give me the cold shoulder for ONE measly day over an issue that really doesn't affect you and which is actually quite funny! Sigh, people nowadays just don't have enough bitterness coursing through their veins, I tell you!

Any way, here's pt. 3 of the travel diary:

Sunday 19th September 2010 - Mom and I were the last people down for the coach to Heathrow. Bleedin' hell! Mom apologised to everyone when we got on board and one person kindly told us we may be last but weren't actually late (phew!). Prior to getting on the bus and after realising the staff were waiting for just us, my Mother went a bit panicky and, well I don't know what she was trying to do, but she seemed to set off walking in a determined fashion to somewhere in the distance. Once stopped, the driver started to laugh and leaned in towards me saying

"Make sure your Mom has a wee before she gets on the plane"

Random. I was kinda glad my haunted case fell over on him now.

Check-In went smoothly and they accepted the passport I never thought I'd get after behaving like a total cretin at the American Embassy (you know I'm a dual national don't you?) and answering simple questions about myself incorrectly and signing my name in a totally different script than my usual signature before laughing like a machine gun in a panicked high pitched voice with wide eyes. During the wait to board we did nothing but run everyone down - people with kids/strollers a bloke in a woollen hat, a snot-faced woman, people stretched out on the seats, people eating like pigs - you point 'em out, we'll insult them quietly to each other. Y'know the film Love Actually? It opens and closes with an airport and talks about all the love which can be found there. Not where I was sitting. The stench of flatulence and burgers was all around, but love? Nah, kids having tantrums and me willing parents to lose it and hit them. THAT was EVERYWHERE around the area we sat. The thing that particularly peeved my Mother was the amount of hand luggage some people had with them. Actual suitcases on wheels in some cases! Who needs to drag so much shit around with them?

So, we got on the flight and I got the window seat which was great. It was next to the wing so I couldn't help but think about William Shatner on that Twighlight Zone episode where the monkey thing pulls chunks off the thing. Still, you don't hear about monkey things on wings very often so I guessed everything would be ok so long as the ailerons and Petot tubes took care of themselves (I really must stop watching Air Crash Investigation). It's ALWAYS the ailerons or the bleedin' Petot Tubes that cause the crashes on that show. They should...well, I don't know what they should do but whatever they should do they SHOULD do it and fortunately, on my flight they DID!

I was excited to find an episode of 'Rev' on my little telly. Despite my atheism (or am I a heathen?) I loved this sit com staring Tom Hollander. He was adorable in the show, bless him (she said slightly ironically). I also watched 'Shrek Ever After', 'How to Train Your Dragon' and 'Nanny McPhee and the Big Bang'.....shit, I just realised I regressed during that 11 hour flight. My vegetarian dinner was shit - they got confused and thought I was vegan. It was a vegetable masala and I HATE spicy food. I had my headphones on so didn't realise how loudly I said

'Well, they can shove that shit up their arses!'

I also sort of accidentally called the fat bloke across from Mom a 'greedy fat bastard' as he'd stuffed 2 desserts down his neck in record time. I think I embarrassed her but to be fair, she did have dinner all down the front of her. We did actually swap dinners and I had my Mom's penne pasta meal. After dinner my mother realised she had forgotten to put her anti-thrombo socks on and so asked for some assistance from me. There wasn't a fat lot of room and unfortunately I almost popped her hip out of it's socket whilst pulling at her leg in order to put the sock on for her. I wonder what we looked like in between the evil laughter, the horrified looks in my direction and the painful acrobatics. Oh yeah, there was a woman sitting just in front who kept turning around to look at us. We got into the pattern where we kept looking at her to see if she was looking at us but then she'd look around catch us staring at her! Mom won't go to the loo now because SHE'S there. I could do with a wee too.

Just to round off I'm going to confess something. One of the things that worried us most about the journey was that we were smuggling bits of 2 dead relatives into the country in my mother's luggage (in ash form). Having an American passport I got through immigration first and so went to collect the baggage. Found mine no problem but my mother's? No where to be seen. I was getting more than a little concerned that we'd caused an international incident and that I would be escorted to a side room where rubber clad, unforgiving fingers would want to explore my special places.

Then I found it.

Left Los Angeles and decanted to hotel in San Diego.

Travelling with a Dead Woman's Suitcase pt. 2 - Heathrow bound

It's occurred to me that 'Travelling with a Dead Woman's Suitcase' isn't the most pleasant of titles for a travelog but well, that's what happened. My Mother, helpful as ever, said she had a decent spare suitcase I could have and it was great. It wasn't until we'd left that she happened to casually mention the case had belonged to her neighbour's mother.

"Oh, doesn't she want it back?" I asked innocently

"No, she's dead"

"I'VE GOT MY STUFF IN A DEAD WOMAN'S SUITCASE?"

"Oh calm down - it's not like she died IN the case or anything!"

"Yeah, but......well, it's weird. A dead woman went places with her stuff in that case and now some stranger has it. Some random neighbour's daughter who she never even met or anything. It's awful."

"I don't think she ever used it actually"

"Oh great. Some woman, full of hope and joy, bought a suitcase with holidays on her mind and what, she just snuffed it? Oh God, that's even worse. I've stolen the happiness that woman was going to have with that case. Why don't I just poke through her stuff and find her holiday novel and sunglasses. Then I can fully flick 2 fingers up at her. Great, the case is going to be haunted by a woman scorned." (I wept ridiculously)

[SEE HOW I CAN NEVER BE APPEASED ONCE I'VE STARTED?]

Well, in actual fact the case was just a case. It was a shit case as it would never stand up but I suspect its original owner was a bit wobbly on her wheels too. Perhaps that was the legacy - I had a case that knocked everyone else's over whenever they were stacked up. Like a parent at a school Nativity, I would watch from afar (the coach window) as all the cases were taken out and lined up only for mine to forget its words and screw the whole thing up for everyone else.

What the hell AM I talking about? Shut up Sket.

Anyhoo, today. As I mentioned yesterday I was due back at work and it was clear that one person wanted to show that they were angry and were choosing to pointedly ignore me. It makes me laugh to think they thought I'd care, for, let's face it, the fewer people who talk to me, the less I have to talk back to anyone, and in my book that's a result! Yay to the colleague who dropped me in it whilst I was away!

Right, here's the next bit of my holiday journal. It's not very interesting but the good stuff will come up soon enough:

SATURDAY 18TH SEPTEMBER 2010: Nightmare morning. My mother was stressed 'cause her cat Jasper shit and vomited all over the house overnight. Then a number of people turned up at the house to see me before we left AND other people kept calling to wish me a nice holiday/happy forthcoming birthday. My Mom was obsessed she wanted the house to be immaculate before she left and all the visitors were a stressful intrusion for her.

Anyhoo, we were ready in time for the pick up by the tour company (it was a door to door service) and had to go and pick up another couple in the Shirley area of Birmingham. My Mother was at the point of explosion as we drove through Sparkbrook which was an area she knew really well as a youngster and was now like another country (if you get my drift). As she's become older my Mother has become increasingly intolerant towards pretty much everyone. We were taken to The Park Hotel at Heathrow airport ready for tomorrow's departure. The hotel is large but the room quite basic. I felt we got bleedin' ripped off with our dinner at their 'Bravo Bravo' restaurant. Despite allegedly having 20% off, we had a bill of £50 for one roast dinner, a tiny salad and 2 non-alcoholic cocktails. Robbing bastards. I had the salad and as I have shit digestion couldn't eat that much and so felt really bad. We can get a roast dinner for less than 4 quid around here! Back in the room I had a lovely long soak in the bath and we watched CSI shows all night before going to sleep. Unfortunately my Mother had a bit of a panic attack 'cause the windows wouldn't open and she wanted air. I'll admit to being a tad grumpy seeing her scratching at the window. Note to self - must be more tolerant and understanding.