how shall I compare thee

I’m bad.

I haven’t read anyone, or written a thing for what seems like weeks.

Unfortunately there are times when you have a choice to either do it or write about it? And I feel a little like “man in a suitcase” at the moment. Not that I’m complaining, I just feel like a bit of a boob for not sharing it is all.

So just in brief for the moment: I’ve been to New York and met friends. Met friends and made friends I hope, (though I’m afraid that may be a moot point with Melissa and Kristie). I’ve been hugged (and remarkably hugged back) by Jessica, met some remarkable people including Jen and Brando - please don’t ask me to do links for the moment, I will I promise when my body clock allows me to tell my arse from my elbow.



(Melissa quite likes a beer!)













I left a particular (yes you! and I can say that becaus you'll never read this) part of my heart in New York, and various bits of other organs including my kidneys and liver in a state of destitution. I never really learnt that very grown up trick of enjoying one's self in an adult way, in moderation. I’ve always had a child like capacity for fascination with something enjoyable, if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing to excess. So despite making it around all of the major landmarks and visiting the Met, the Guggenheim and the Museum for Modern Art, I also managed to fall dead asleep in Central Park for 3 hours and slightly longer than that on the subway. I arrived back in my room after “TequilaCon” at somewhere after 9am on the next day.

I took a horse drawn carriage ride around Times Square with a complete stranger and a jug of vodka martinis at midnight. I cannot remember her name, or in fact any details, and I’m sure she will have blanked them from her memory. I’ve been to Harlem, by mistake, walked higgledy piggledy like a lost boy down back streets (I didn’t do it on purpose Mel and Kristie - if I’d got the messages I would have appreciated the help).




If someone could tell me who this is I would be eternally grateful (please ask her if she has my bloody ‘phone)…













And I’ve been an utter rotter as a dad too. The boys were liberated from the kennels for 48 hours before they were deposited again. (Long enough for a trip to the vet and the good news is that Charlie’s eye is looking slightly better).

At the moment I’m in Houston, it’s 10.30pm, which means 4.30am at home, I think, so if this post makes little sense then at least it’s short…

…and to quote a young lady after I asked, “how was it for you?”

“mercifully brief” she replied.

I must go down to the sea again...

“The Bank Holiday” is a great English tradition. Generations of children have been packed into cars, buried alive under the great mounds of household flotsam and jetsam deemed necessary to spend a few days in the country and driven, groaning and complaining all the way, at interminably slow speed along overloaded highways, to some damp destination that their parents think is ‘interesting’.

Not to be outdone I threw my ‘children’ into the car along with the tent and camping paraphernalia and drove for six hours to the coast. They deserve it you see, they’re dogs, they shouldn’t be cooped up indoors, no, they should be cooped up in the back of the car. So many, many hours after we set out we, found our pitch. It’s just as well really as I had absolutely no view out of the rear screen by then as they’d rimed it with half an inch of dog’s nose splufter. I’m glad we were in a field, I don’t think we smelt very nice.

So, all in all we’ve had a refreshing few days beach coming, reading, cooking bizarre meals on the primus stove and drinking lots of local beer with local people with one big eye in the middle of their forehead, (“Oo aar, av’ you met moi sister-wife?”).

Charlie’s little plastic bonnet came off so he could play on the beach. It was a practical measure as he was doing a good impersonation of a bucket dredger. I’ll offer you one piece of advice if I may, never throw a tennis ball in to the sea for your spaniel, if your terrier is wearing a plastic bucket on his head. The results might look hilarious but I’m pretty sure it’s less funny to your dog who is currently doing a head stand in a foot of salt water. Ah well, you live and learn?

On the Charlie front, we’ve discussed a few options with the vet. One is to surgically pull down a membrane from inside his eye lid and effectively sew his eye shut to give the cornea a chance to heal. The other, less palatable option is simply to remove the eye. But they’ll have to fight me for it – at least convince me that it is absolutely the best thing for him, because I’m going to kick up a hell of a fucking stink (excuse my French) before I let that happen.

For my part, well I’m fine. It’s nothing I need worry about any longer.

It was a pretty unpleasant experience though, conducted under local anaesthetic. It’s a very peculiar feeling, chatting to the nurse while some other faceless creature hacks away (I’m sure I do him a disservice by describing the surgeon’s handiwork as “hacking”, he certainly did neat stitches) at your bits.

And it must be a good sign that I’ve started to pick at the stitches?

Do you think that if I pull the wrong one the whole bloody mission will fall apart and I’ll lose the other two?

my name is Charlie..

and I'm the Easter numptee.

My dad was going to say hello, but I bit him in the typing finger. It's the same one he uses to stir his tea, pick his nose, and squirt that yucky poo in my sore eye...

sorry

It's all a bit of a fuzzle around here at the moment, so I'm going to love you and leave you just for a little while, and catch up with as soon as I can....

x