22nd November 2004
Hi all,
Never work with children or animals, as the saying goes. Nice idea in principle, not so simple in practice.
As Lorraine and I have carried on working towards making the transition from a carpet to a laminated floor in our living room so we have seen a bit of resistance from our dog, Cookie.
Cookie has always been a big fan of our carpet. He laid down on it a lot, so presumably he has always found it comfortable. He ran around on it a lot, knowing when that he could stop when he wanted to. Alternatively he also knew that if he was having a game he could dig his claws into the carpet, get a bit of extra traction and speed away from whoever was chasing him.
(I know, this is hardly building up to how they move the pitch in and out of The Gelredome. Stick with me.)
Needless to say Lorraine and I have wondered how Cookie will cope with the transformation to a wooden floor. My parents have worried that he will slide all over the place. Personally I think he'll take a few baby steps on it and then he'll forget all about it. The only way I think it might affect him is that he'll try and get on the sofa more often, as if that doesn't happen enough already.
What we didn't expect was a silent protest in an attempt to keep the carpet. When the first few bits started to come up Lorraine and I were given a few funny looks, as if to say, "What's going on here?" Last Saturday we really ploughed into it and got ourselves into a good, fast-moving routine. Move furniture, in with a knife, up comes the carpet. As we moved, so did Cookie. As the carpet retreated, so did he, like a child running away from the waves on a beach. Eventually he curled himself up in one of his favourite spots by the living room door, giving both Lorraine and I dirty looks. We weren't popular with him.
Needless to say we were even less popular when we stopped laughing and moved him off the remaining corner and took that bit up as well. We were sympathetic towards him though. While we're waiting for the new flooring to be put down we've kept a bit of Cookie-sized carpet for him. Needless to say he's enjoying his "island". He doesn't appreciate it when Lorraine jokingly threatens to put it in the bin.
As for the child's side of affairs, well let's say my trip to get a Stanley knife became a lot more interesting than might have been expected. And that's not even mentioning the local neds who were hurdling across various garden fences as I was walking up the street (I'm not going any further with that story, as I've already bored everyone with my Colin Jackson story countless times already).
After plenty of looking I couldn't find our Stanley knife. I even looked in our really old toolbox, which seemed to be full of dust and cobwebs (I'm not allowed to comment on the possibility that the same toolbox might now be in Australia for use in one of the "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!" Bush-Tucker trials). No luck. So I put in a request to my friend Stuart, who was more than happy to lend me his Stanley knife.
Typically for me I happened to visit at a particularly inopportune time. Stuart was involved in a telephone meeting (nice way to spend an evening at home, not!), so his three-year-old daughter Abigail showed me in.
Determined not to make a nuisance of myself I watched the TV with Abigail and waited patiently. Cue kids channels showing cartoons like King Rollo and Mr. Benn, talk about a blast from the past!
You won't be surprised to learn that my cynical mind was quickly up to speed. Take a look at King Rollo - questionable facial hair, jumping around in odd motions with a strange taste in fashion. King Rollo? How about "Student" Rollo? Dare I suggest what kind of
multivitamins he might take to make him dance like that? For some reason I remember the joke my friend Nick and I passed back and forth on countless occasions in the summer of 1993:
Q) Do you know what *insert name of student here* got for their 'A' Levels?
A) A couple of Es.
Thankfully for the future of mankind Abigail isn't as cynical as me, although she is a great deal smarter. "How can they eat when they don't open their mouths?" Seemingly Mr. Benn is continuously fed through an intravenous drip.
Abigail also saw fit to show me through the H. Samuel catalogue that was sent through all the local mailboxes that evening. I had been thinking that Abigail was just flicking through the pictures. How wrong could I be? Very wrong as it turned out. "You should get this for your wife," she said, with a degree of certainty that she had a better idea what I should be buying Lorraine for Christmas. While trying not to crack up I told Abigail, "You're not allowed to speak to Auntie Lainy!" Cue a confused face sporting a petted lip - I wasn't popular.
And maybe that's the thing about children and animals. They may be refreshingly open and honest, they may be able to make their points in an amusing or dignified manner more easily than adults, but they just don't get sarcasm. Subtleties in mannerisms and the way things are said appeal to me, clever humour where others try too hard or try to reach the lowest rung of the ladder in return for an easy laugh. My Mum always told me that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, which might help explain why she loves animals and children so much.
Have a good week (no, really, I mean it)!
Tony
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