Choices, choices

 

More bathroom shenanigans. You may have had enough of these, but I’ll keep it brief. Just wanted to share my amazement that the format of their issue-raising should be so consistent.

“About the asbestos soil pipe”

“Yes….?”

“The specialist firm have come to remove it.”

“Great”

“Except they didn’t remove it. You see, it goes under the ground.”

“Yes, that’s what soil pipes do.”

“So to replace it under the ground we’d have to dig up all the concrete.”

“Sure, we don’t want that.”

“We could replace the section above the ground.”

“Great, do that.”

“They’ve gone now.”

“Er…”

“And at the top, you see, it goes right above the roof. That’s very high. You’d need scaffolding.”

“Remember I told you the guttering people will have scaffolding.”

“Yes, but it would have to go up to the roof.”

“It will. That’s where the guttering is.”

“Oh. There’s no problem then.”

“I know this.”

"Your bathroom's all ready. We couldn't get hold of you to ask whether you wanted us to clean up afterwards..."

He went on to tell me we had a “hip roof”. I was pleased to have brought some London street cool to the area, but he explained he was talking about the tile fixing. I left before he could tell me it was a problem. None of which has anything to do with this week’s big news…

It’s puppy time again. Six weeks from birth, and all the new owners were asked to choose which puppy they would like. The puppies have been microchipped, so the idea is you work out which is which by pointing a scanner at them, and record the number of your chosen one against your name. (“Come here 873950263X609!”)

Helen was working all weekend, so I was authorised to make the choice. We agreed that the primary method would be to put my hand into the pen and see which dog was first to trot over to me. I suggested as a fall back that I shout “Mishka!” (for no other reason than it’s the name we’d chosen) and see which dog looked round.

I raced down the A303. It was all go at Sue the breeder’s. Apart from various owners all jostling to get first choice of the little dogs, Bertie, her stud schnauzer, had a lady visitor and things were getting hot and heavy in the room adjoining the kitchen. “He’s a bit fussy,”  Sue confided. I was intrigued. What might he be fussy about? Personal hygiene, possibly. Length of beard (schnauzers being gender fluid in the tonsorial department)? Maybe he had a no-tongues rule.

I approached the pen and put my hand in. They were all asleep. None of them stirred. “Mishka!” I called. They slept on. After about five minutes one of them lifted her head. A sign! I picked her up and sat with her on my lap. She fell asleep again, on her back. One of the other owners nodded approval. “That means she’s a snuggler.” As a piece of scientific theory this seemed to be up there with “Bad morning sickness means you’re carrying a boy”. Nevertheless, I was here as Helen’s representative on earth, and she would want a snuggler. Mishka-designate was also a bit smaller than the others (not the runt, who had already been allocated, you will remember, to an actress who wanted a small dog she could take on aircraft in a bag), and “small and feisty” would be a criterion.

I could feel myself getting into the mindset I use when buying clothes (viz. “Yes, fine, this’ll do.”) So I set the puppy back down and chose another available one. I was rather attracted by her permanent expression of outrage, but otherwise she had nothing that pushed her into the lead. There was one other available puppy left, and I spent some time with her, but I felt we weren’t gelling. Neither was Bertie next door, apparently. He seemed rather nonchalant about the whole thing. He’s got 99 problems but the bitch ain’t one, apparently.

"Frankly, it's hard to imagine that a besuited, metropolitan, arch-Remainer is the best candidate to win back the ‘left behind’ communities who abandoned Labour in 2019".

I went all decisive and scanned our chosen pup, noting down the salient details. We won’t see her again until collection day at 8 weeks. We might even have a bathroom by then.

The removal team arrive on Wednesday morning. That thing that I won’t mention for politeness just got real. Think of us, won’t you?