A CAT CALLED MERLOT

Thursday 22nd October 2020

Chantal has got very big since it was announced she is going to have a baby. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has at least eight babies and the small, contentious cot will have to go back to the shop and would be better swapped for a big fenced off area and a massive litter tray. Matt, for his part, is walking around as though he’s in a perpetual state of shock at the dawning of the age of responsibility. A row broke out after the result of the twelve-week scan when Matt scrutinised the grainy, monochrome image and declared that if you look at it closely, it’s obvious the baby wasn’t his. Chantal screamed words (to the effect of) how he came to that convenient conclusion? To which he responded, “It’s head’s too big, it doesn’t look anything like me and it’s the wrong colour!” With that, he left (rapidly) for The Laughing Goat, to discuss his position. By the time he arrived home, drunk and contrite, Chantal had decided on his ‘position’ for him and his future was on the doorstep in several plastic bags.  

On the subject of homeless; on Saturday, we heard Gideon Longfellow, the man who lives in the folly in the park at the end of The Avenue, is about to be evicted. He told Queenie when she dropped off a flask of soup, he didn’t want to take the hostel place offered, as the last time he went to one, it was full of addicts and the place was a haven for drug dealers. His ideal, he said, was to build himself an eco-friendly mobile shelter, just for sleeping in as he likes to spend his days in the local library or out in the open air. Opening his notebook, he showed her the design. Queenie thought it looked a bit like a fat, wooden sausage on bicycle wheels but it gave her an idea. On the way home, she popped in to see Saffron Wright-Smith at Number 36, who’s a sort of professional, ethical fundraiser and, by the end of the afternoon, they had formed a committee and persuaded Gary from Number 11 to provide free labour, to build “Gideon’s Pod”.

On Tuesday Lydia, Queenie’s mum, phoned to say she was thinking of getting married again. Queenie, looking like she’d been chewing on the rough end of a pigeon, enquired who the lucky man was? Lydia told her it wasn’t “a he”. Apparently, she’d met a woman at a party in Leicester and, as a same-sex relationship was number seventy-four on her list of one hundred things to do before she died, it felt like a great opportunity to tick something else off. It was either that or climbing Kilimanjaro, currently number thirty-nine but that wasn’t happening due to lack of funds and, frankly, energy. She felt that as she’d shared her van with the woman for a whole week without major incident, it was a good omen for the future. Plus ‘Suki’ could whip up an amazing macaroni cheese on a single ring on the stove! Queenie, pointed out that a week really wasn’t very long to be talking about marriage, regardless of Suki’s culinary talent. Lydia said she’d married Queenie’s father after a weekend and in any case, a wedding in the South of England was about the only way currently, to get more than six people together for a knees-up!