Cats, axes and man-noise

Popped down to the shires to see family yesterday, getting work done on the train. Pretty pleased with the bit where someone hoots to see someone else watching a third party swimming. Oh yes, it’s a corker.

Admired the view from my grandpa’s new pad while my nephew detailed his morning at the nursery. A MAN had made NOISE. He’d made the NOISE with his MOUTH. And then they’d all had to go INSIDE.

After a bit of puzzling with the generations of parent I asked, “Was the man just like your uncles?”

Nephew considered, and then nodded emphatically. So we reckon a tramp kvetching at the gate.

After tuna steak and noodles, my sister – who heads home to Australia next week – helped me buy some smartish tee-shirts and another chav top (the Dr disapproves of yet more stripy arms, but she can hardly talk since she’d spent the afternoon hobbling to the shoe shops of Penge).

Then we had a few beers in a pub I used to lurk near when I was 16 – around the time a man had been axed in the alleyway. Those were rough and tumble days back then, accounting for how manly and fearless I grew up.

Had a good old natter about, well, everything really – which is a lot to cover in merely four pints. Freelancing, the adjustment of sleeves, the rubbishness-of-boys and plans for our future…

Also discussed a ghostly encounter that she’d had some months after a significant death. We have very different views on this sort of thing, but I liked the explanation that, “He’d just taken a while to find me.” Could well imagine the immaculately dressed and mannered spirit patiently waiting on a lift…

Before wending my way back to a hayfever-clogged Smoke, my parents were delighted to present me with a photo they’d taken in Zurich of a red-triangle roadsign warning of black cats.

“But cats aren’t dangerous,” said the Dr when she saw it. I loved her quite a lot for that.