I’ve decided that being a blogger is a bit like being a pop star or an author. It’s all about the second album or book when the first one has been a hit, and, from the incredible response to my initial attempt yesterday, I can only assume it was a hit, or as Shakespeare said (a prize to the first reader to tell me the source) a palpable hit . So, I guess from spending much of my life as a blagger I am now officially a blogger.
My day started with my widowed 94 year old neighbour, Isabella, asking my wife if she would buy her a bottle of gin when she went shopping. At least somebody has their priorities right, so I added a large bottle of Jack Daniels to the shopping list. The list proved itself to be a work of pure fantasy as, although I didn’t go to Sainsbury’s yesterday (not about sticking to the rules but because I hate shopping anywhere but Marksies, Checkers (in Seapoint, South Africa), Waterstones, Daunt Books and Brooks Brothers), I was reliably informed that the shelves were empty. And my wife provided photos to prove it. So empty in fact that people were filling their shopping trolleys with the shelves themselves and trying to pay for them at check-out so they could take them home and lick off whatever food may have adhered to them. Not such a great idea at the pet food counters of course, though it may yet come to that. More about pets later. But she did get the gin and the Jack Daniels so not entirely a wasted journey.
Meanwhile, Sainsbury's (I am now thinking I should officially declare myself an Influencer and get brands to pay me for a mention…. that’s two you owe me Sainsburys, one for M&S, one each for Waterstones, Daunts, Checkers, Jack Daniels and sadly can’t recall the brand of gin she bought) are saying that from Thursday on they will open their stores only to 70 plus year olds. So, that’s another commercial opportunity available to me. I can offer myself as a surrogate shopper to the younger generation and charge a 10% commission on the total of their bills. That’s a generous offer as my daughter-in-law drove me up from my 15% offer for helping me set up this blog to 50% …. She should be a football agent really as she’s a tougher negotiator than me. As long as those I surrogate for throw in a free sanitary hand wash. Speaking of that we found a spare one at the back of a cupboard so if anybody wants to make an offer you know where to find me. Mind you, there’s nowhere for the likes of me to go that necessitates a hand wash afterwards.
My sons and grandson threatened me that they would stop reading if I put in too many puns or so-called jokes. My grandson, Sam, when asked how many out of ten I get for a joke invariably says minus a billion. But I can’t help this one, Sam, as somebody suggested to me that the man who invented that sanitary wash must be rubbing his hands together. You can all respond by telling me how many out of ten I get for that.
Back to pets. Some of you have known me a long time, some of you may know me a little better after yesterday’s effort and some of you, like my close family, may prefer to deny all knowledge of me. My wife, for example (known as St Marilyn of Southgate, where we live, is always at pains to stress she is not related and we share no genes). But you will all have gathered that I am not a great fan of dogs, or any animal for that matter other than the four-legged kind carrying a jockey and my money past a winning post (I remember horse racing as if it was yesterday. Which indeed it was, until Bojo brought all that to an end too). My sons on the other hand are respectively a cat lover (that’s the younger one) and a dog lover (the older one).
Now the older one, together with his Cavapoo dog Wanda (there’s a Larry David story there but I will save that for when I run out of material), are at present held hostage in Los Angeles. Nicky (he has a name and as I mentioned the dog by name) it’s only fair to mention his as well) was due to return to the UK in a couple of weeks after five years working in the States. Everything was sorted. Office was closed, lease of his apartment was ending, flights for himself and Wanda booked on Virgin Atlantic (with whom he has about a million air miles as he’s been such a loyal customer), crate for dog ordered, vaccinations and paperwork virtually ready, contents of apartment ready to transport - and then Virgin showed no reciprocal loyalty and unilaterally declared they were no longer transporting live animals. At present he is making desperate efforts to transfer to American Airlines or another airline who don’t operate a no dog fly zone. They do have plenty of seats for people so it’s all a race against time, but let me be the first to declare publicly that if any airline (other than China Airways) will fly him and Wanda back in next few days I will give them the sanitary hand wash we found in the cupboard. Meanwhile, he’s adopting the policy of the SAS, the IDF and probably the captain of the Titanic as well in saying he won’t leave anybody (and by anybody he means the dog) behind. I’m hoping it will have a happy resolution and won’t be a ‘tail’ that will run and run. Or wag and wag as the case may be.
I was making notes of things that occurred to me yesterday in anticipation of writing and for a day when nothing happened or could happen there are enough notes to sustain my blogs for the rest of the week at least. So, thanks for reading me (and so many of you are), and remember to tell your family and friends (and enemies as well I suppose if you are finding what I write annoying). And if I am spared I will be posting again tomorrow. Your feedback has been great. Enough for a blog in itself so keep them coming,