An air of sadness around Chez Lock this evening…
Stevie the Shi-Tzu (formerly Nelson because of his one eye) was rescued from an abusive home by my mother around 1995. Recently, he lost the sight in his one good eye and my mother was saying that he was becoming increasingly frail. I didn’t believer her as the dog was walking around, still eating and barking his little head off. He was still doing this up until last night when I heard him being walked. Even Alex the Wonderdog reacted when he went past the house. Some sick dog, eh?
Soooo…today I got a tearful call from her at about 6pm asking if The Missus was home from Frankfurt. No she wasn’t, I had told my mother earlier that she wouldn’t be back until the evening. My mother told me that Stevie needed to be taken to the vet to be put down. He was apparently writhing around in agony and something needed to be done this instant. I offered to have a look at him, but my mother flatly refused. I didn’t believe that the dog was that sick. Frail, yes. Sick, no. Ready for the big dog basket in the sky, certainly not. She wouldn’t let me see the dog and she couldn’t wait for the next morning when we could all go to the vets together and be supportive. I said I was trying to help, but we ended the conversation on bad terms as these things usually do.
About ten minutes later, I heard a car door and I saw my mother being driven off to the vets by some unknown woman. Obviously it was time for Stevie to meet his maker. Unfortunately, I wished I could said goodbye or at least accompanied them to the vets, but as usual, I am treated like a second-class citizen and held at arms length.
When The Missus returned from her trip at 7pm, I told her what had happened and we were both upset about it. My mother has a way of manipulating a situation so that you end up looking a complete cunt. As The Missus said, “What will the neighbours think? We didn’t take your mum and the dog to the vets.” True. People will talk (as people do around here and my mother is well known in the area) but that doesn’t matter, does it? The funny this is that The Missus has loyally ferried my mother and Stevie the Dog to the vets for the past five years. She has planned days off around vets appointments, such is the level of commitment from our end.
I called my mother on the phone and asked her about the dog, but the phone degenerated in to the slanging match. I am the villian because I am a horrible inconsiderate son and I should care about her feelings. I do care about her feelings, but was more concerned about the dog. I told her I constantly feel that I am being pushed backwards by her and pushed into a situation where I feel total resentment for her. I asked her how she would feel if Alex the Wonderdog was in the same position and if she would care and want to be involved? “No,” she replied, “He’s your dog and I wouldn’t want to interfere.” That’s how cold she can be. The next minute she can be crying her heart out.
I don’t understand how you can engage with people on any level and then expect to be detached and then expect to empathise all at once.
Give me support
Don’t give me support
Give me support
I feel confused. She messes with my mind. Now the really odd thing is that before all this and before the dog took a turn for the worse (which I still don’t believe), The Missus and I discussed my mother and her up-and-coming 60th birthday. We reckoned that because it was a milestone and a time to celebrate, that she would put up the roadblocks and cause an argument. She has done this for years. When we got engaged, she was upset because she was the last to hear about it (an unfortunate turn of events). She got pissed off when we announced our wedding. She didn’t talk to anyone at our wedding. She never congratulated me when I got my degree, for example. Whenever there’s time for enjoyment and celebration, she turns it into a time of brooding resentment. As a child, Christmases were always grim with her because if I didn’t show just the right amount enthusiasm and gratitude for my presents there would be arguments and I would be labelled ungrateful and wicked.
Now I am not saying she plans all this stuff, but events always seem to conspire against us and frankly, I am too old and tired to be dealing with this stuff now. Why can’t we support each other? Why does it always descend into arguments? Why does it always have to take on the gravitas of a badly-written, badly-acted soap opera?
Of course, the one I feel sorry for is little Stevie. Despite only having one eye and being physical weak, he was always a happy little dog. I don’t think he was given a fair chance and I have a real problem forgiving my mother for this. Why is it that once a dog stops being 100% functional, the needle comes out? Why can’t we be a little more sympathetic and clean up the wet patches and let them die a quiet, dignified death in their basket with their favourite toy and blanket?
I don’t know…I really don’t know…
Category: Diary
Oh well, The Missus is away in Frankfurt on business, so it is just me and Alex The Wonderdog and The Beak of Terror left at Chez Lock. Not much doing, really. Been doing naughty stuff (i.e. not working or writing) and generally dodging the page.
I had a little fiddle with the “Thing-ummi-Jig” track I recorded the other day and added a middle section to break up the main guitar part. Now it’s more of a song, rather than a continual repeating refrain. You can hear it, here:
Or you can download the naked tracks from the ccMixter site and remix them yourself, by visiting here.
Had some more thoughts about “Dead Rock Star”. While walking Alex at night, I’ve been boring the Missus with my plans for the story. Last night, I managed to map out to chapter ten, which I think is good. It’s nice to have a plan – normally when I am writing fiction I just tend to attack the page and see what sticks. I actually feel good about this story, which is worrying and probably signals that it won’t be appreciated by those that matter: the literary agents and publishers who I will be approaching once it is finished. Did a word count and pass another milestone: 21,000 words and counting. I’m thinking this will be around a 60,000 words in length. A nice short book. I’ve still got it in my head that it is for kids, but they’ll have to edit out some of the rude words. Oh dear…
Today, very productive doing “Dead Rock Star”. Chapter seven was to be an important point in the story. The main character is presented with the facts of death. Life might just be a rehearsal for the afterlife, but how should he spend his time? Also, what is Kilbrameth and why does he insist on giving all new apparitions “spirit names”? The chapter covers a lot of ground, it presents the idea of a ghost community, the network of knowledge carried by word of mouth and how ghosts occupy their spare time. Some try communicating with the living, some play practical jokes, others just think. Spanning over 3,000 words, there’s a lot of ideas squashed in. Some I’ll be revisiting and the chapter ends exactly how I wanted it to end, leaving our protagonist once again being drawn back to the world of the living.
It was just so much fun to write – I am looking forward to do some more.
While writing, I took a screen break to bake a fruit cake as the Missus had picked up some bags of dried fruit in one of those BOGOF offers in the supermarket. It had seemed such a long time since my last fruitcake that I had to consult the recipe book. It turned out OK and was very moist and tasty. I also managed to bake a white loaf in the breadmaker too. So while I was unleashing my imagination onto the page, the house smelt of baking. Maybe I could be a writer-cum-baker who solves crime in his spare time. Now that’s an idea for a new BBC TV drama!
Hmmm, lovely cake…
It’s sooo moist…
Slices of cake are available from the Lock Bakery. Just send the money to the usual address.
Here are the top search strings that have lead the unwary web traveller to my virtual door:
1 nookie bear
2 twitchy eye
3 janet dobinson
4 wanna drink baileys out of a shoe
5 49 up
6 ashbory bass
7 cocksucker blues mp3
8 nookie the bear
9 song metronome ticking brass synth
10 twitchy eye cure
11 umd region
12 when september ends.mp3
13 lou andy
14 49-up
15 angel tears listen to samples
16 angry kid:i spy mp4 free down load
17 ashbory g strings
18 ashbory ridiculous rubber bass
19 baby it’s cold outside zooey deschanel mp3
20 booze
I see that Nookie the Bear is still dominating the charts, but it is interesting to see vague references about “The Mighty Boosh” and “49 Up” making the charts. There’s a couple of other entries that relate to TV shows I have mentioned, so another way of generating web traffic is to mention popular culture or TV shows.
Well I was noodling around on the ccMixter site when I came across a drum beat that had been uploaded by my old mucker, Penston. They always said that a Penston/Lock project would never happen, but now I’ve silenced the nay-sayers (And what do the nay sayers say? They say nay!). It was suitably funky that I spent this evening noodling a little jig of a tune around the drums. It’s nothing spectacular, just a fun track to make you smile. You can hear it here:
Or you can download it to keep, by visiting this here page.
Today, The MIssus informed me that we are only one step away from the poorhouse. This is not good.
Spent the day entertaining The Missus’ grandmother who is another year older. Hurrah! The day was good fun, though it was blighted by heavy traffic travelling to and from her house. We tried a local Toby Carvery in Buckhurst Hill and grandmother enjoyed the food muchly. I’m not a carvery kind of guy, preferring not to line up at the trough like a rutting piglet, but to have my food delivered to my table. It’s the dignified and cultured way of behaving, no? (I jest – I just don’t like carvery food. It just seems nasty and plain to the palate for me) So I ended up settling for a Turkey Cesar Salad, which was a huge mound of food. I couldn’t complain about the size of the portion but the turkey was a little non-descript and wet. But I took solace with the garlic croutons and my pint of cider. Desert was a slice chocolate cake with ice cream. What an interesting combination that all made with my booze. Hmmm…
Not much else to report really other than I totally failed to fix grandmother’s TV. It’s a pile of knackered shit which should never have left the Ferguson factory. Hopefully the Missus will be able to get the local Currys electrical shop to repair/replace/refund the TV.
This is about an intelligent beermat that can tell whether or not you want a refill and will alert the barman. Not bad, but it would be better if the beermat could tell when you’ve had enough and phoned for a taxi. Now that would be useful!
BBC NEWS | Technology | Hi-tech beermats for 21st Century