Whippersnapper was fading so fast today, I took him to the vet, who took blood to test and sent us home; five minutes after we got back, the phone rang and we were back again, so I could learn how to give an insulin injection: he has diabetes.
Offsprog Two remarked that every time he goes to the vet he returns with a different part of his body shaved. He looks like a Premiership footballer with his fancy haircarvings.
Meanwhile, McMum slipped on the ice for the second time since Christmas and has broken her arm and must sleep sitting up.
And Offsprog One is moving house tomorrow; after I've shown the vet that I can inject Whippernapper successfully I'm driving to Brighton.
The University of Brighton has a housing service, Unihomes, which seems to be totally irresponsible and totally unregulated: they gave a builder a key one Saturday morning to just let himself into a flat with 3 teenage women in it- outrageous.
And then her room got colder, and damper, and colder, and damper, and her clothes went mouldy in the wardrobe and her leather belt grew green fur on it, and the ink ran on her drawings, and the Unihomes people git cheekier and cheekier and told the girls that their landlords had terminal cancer- which was true, but how cruel to use that as an excuse!
They missed appointments, letting their tenants down, who had taken precious time off University to wait in for them. Poor Offsprog 1 has been camping out in the tiny living room, after finding a collection of slugs behind her wardrobe.
Finally, she is moving to a little room around the corner and I'm going down to help her move her stuff.
There is good news as well though: Martin has agreed to play Club Artyfartle, and it will be lovely to have him there. It's going to be a very special night. And this weekend I'm playing the Cluny 2 in Newcastle with Martin and Gemma, a full set of songs.
Lots of people have been buying Skifflecat White Cat guitars after they got a good review in Guitar and Bass magazine, all thanks to Liz for telling them about the company.
All we need now is a bit of spring sunshine and a chocolate tap in the bathroom.
3 comments:
my pervy landlord used to let himself into my bedsit to empty the meter - no warning whatever. What a creep.
Could I have a tap that dispensed salt and vinegar crisps instead of chocolate? Sorry about poor Whippersnapper - good luck with the injections ....
Sounds like the days when I was in Brighton, when the landlords to avoid were Hoogstraten and Raja; before the former had the latter murdered. What horrible people they were - why is the University no better?!
Who can forget the charm of waking in a room decorated overnight by the silvery trails of slugs? Aaaah, sweet memory...
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