Work is a whirlpool. With only two official working days remaining I'm struggling to get everything done without getting my dear self in too much trouble. Word has spread around town that the place will close for the holidays on Friday and frantic clients claw their way to the shop daily. The entire thing reminds me of the green pharmacy scene in Natural Born Killers. I'm the fat Native American pharmacist.
To my vast astonishment one client out of a thousand I broke my back for sent me a 400g box of Cadbury Milk Tray. Almost as good for me as the cat's daily dose of home-grown, organic catnip.
Saturday sits at the very eye of this violent whirlpool. My colleagues and I all have to go along to work to finish whatever we didn't manage to do by end of business on Friday – for me, now, around 19:00 every evening. Work done, we then have to clean and pack up and cover everything for the holiday. Sigh.
After completing all of that to the satisfaction of the powers-that-be, we’ll be allowed to attend a naais braai in the car park out back. We’ll be expected to be all agreeable and smile at those we despise. Smile and wave, boys, just smile and wave.
All of this happens on the official first day of our tiny summer break. For effing what?
The Nissan's clutch is very testy again and Flymo had a rather loud and very disturbing sound that seemed to come from somewhere around the front wheel for the last few trips. The One and I had a look on Saturday but in our expert opinion nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We even bought a pint of motor oil and doused the area where we thought the wheel bearings were most likely to be located but the annoying click-clack would not disappear. When I mounted my iron steed this evening, however, something clicked in the front and Flymo was back to his gently purring self again.
Anyway, today we discovered that our pretty little garden is under severe attack. The One found three or four fierce-looking caterpillars chomping away at the glossy new leaves of the innocent mountain cabbage sapling. The bastards make very disquieting clicking noises when they think they’re under attack and raise themselves in the most alarming way. The One couldn't deal with them himself but when I got home I rolled up my sleeves and sadistically splattered their insatiable vermin guts under the tree they are devouring. I will not discuss details here but The One turned green and went inside.
Incidentally, that is exactly how I feel when I think about Saturday’s hypocritical shindig.
Not even Anna, guard dog and protector though she is, will touch those monsters. She’s grown into the most beautiful young dog but she still becomes utterly destructive when she’s bored, so we instituted a way to burn some excess energy off her. A cheap plastic Frisbee is all we need. She’ll chase it to the end of the garden for hours, bringing it back time after time for another run. We've even managed to train her to drop the Frisbee at our feet when given the appropriate command.
At the moment there are few things I find more soothing when returning home after work than relaxing outside with my man and chasing Anna round the garden using a whirling Frisbee.
Written by I