Author: paula.napier

Thursday 14th October 2021

The weather has turned colder, leaves are falling from the trees like burnished confetti and finally, after days of me staring longingly at it, in the evenings, the stove has been. I did venture out briefly on Tuesday to patrol my garden as Queenie said she had a supermarket delivery and  it was unfortunate as it was “raining cats and dogs”. It wasn’t her usual terminology, so I had to go out and make sure the bodies weren’t piling up on the lawn. As there was nothing unusual to report, I came back in, wet and a little grumpy at the false alarm but cheered up enormously when I heard the driver of the delivery van was Gideon (ex resident of The Avenue Eco Pod). He came in and helped Queenie unpack the shopping and updated her on his new life. 

“Still on these then?” He said with a grin, holding up a packet of chocolate biscuits. “Medicinal” said Queenie, hiding them from herself, at the back of the cupboard. 

He asked her if she’d got a new man, to which she replied that since she’d purchased a sophisticated coffee machine, taken out comprehensive plumbing and boiler insurance and started listening the Archer’s Omnibus on a Sunday morning, she really had no need.

On Saturday morning, a strange, noisy car pulled up onto the driveway. Queenie, who was on the phone to her friend Alex, opened the door and found a middle aged man standing on the doorstep wearing a track suit with a baseball cap on back to front. 

  “Yo!” he said holding out his arm to do what humans call a “fist bump” which I believe is friendly and not travelling at speed which is simply called “a punch”. It’s best not to get them mixed up, I feel. 

Queenie looked bemused but found her fist reluctantly connecting with his. 

 “I’m your bro’” he said with a grin, “Your brother! Darren…Remember?”

At this point Queenie said she’d call Alex back.

 “Don’t recognise me out of my fancy dress, huh?” He stood with his arm open doing a riding motion with the other hand and pulling a silly face.

Queenie looked at him as though he’d lost his mind, “My brother’s called Stephen. Have you got the right house?” She said, optimistically.

Darren leaned back and pointed at her with fingers like pretend pistols, “You’re kidding me, right?”

Queenie made a sort of embarrassed exhaling sound and shook her head.

 “I’m Tic-Tac Teddy’s son!”

Her eyes widened and not in a good way, “Oh, that Darren!”

 “Thought as I was in the area doing a bit of, you know?” he winked, “Business, I’d pop round and see my new sis in her gaff and get better acquainted!”

 “Right…well, the thing is, er Darren, I’m just on my way out.”  

That didn’t ring quite true, as she was still in her dressing gown and I had a distinct feeling this blended family thing wasn’t going to work.

From today, I’m taking a break from writing my diary, to have some new adventures but I hope to be back soon! Stay safe, Love Merlot xx

Thursday 7th October 2021

It’s now several weeks since Mrs Waters, Number 21 awarded the contract to build her extension to a tall, handsome chap called Leroy. His van is parked outside every day. On the side it says “Leroy Your Friendly Local Builder. Customer Satisfaction Guaranteed!” So far, there is no sign that a brick has been laid. Marcus Briggs from Number 18 said despite this, from what he could gather, Leroy was particularly friendly and Mrs Waters appeared very satisfied. 

Wendy from Number 27 had a video consultation with her GP on Tuesday. I sat on the window ledge outside and watched as she stood in front of the lap top and attempted to show the Doctor her navel, which had become badly inflamed.

  Doctor – Can you take the lap top nearer to a window and pull your trousers down a bit further so I can take a look in a better light?”

She did what he asked holding the lap top with one hand and pulling her t shirt up with the other. 

  Doctor – Ah….Sorry but could you stop the screen wobbling?

Keen to oblige, she balanced the lap top on the back of the chair just in front of the large sash window in the living room.

  Wendy – Is that better?

  Doctor – No that’s no good, you’re too low, now.

  Wendy –  I could visit the surgery?

  Doctor –  (Quickly) No, that won’t be necessary! 

Wendy stood on a nearby footstool, jeans pulled down around her knees and top pulled up around her neck, sticking out her stomach towards the lap top screen.

   Doctor – Ok, I think I can make it out… Oh, it’s gone dark again?

   Wendy – That’s because the window cleaner is now standing right outside with the cat from Number 25!

Tic Tac Teddy and Queenie’s mother, Lydia’s wedding took place on Saturday. I wasn’t invited but Queenie described it in vivid detail to Marcus Briggs over coffee at our flat on Monday. Apparently, the guests arrived in a blaze of coloured silk and jodhpurs while the bride and groom were led in on two expensive racehorses. The ceremony took place in a marquee, before a lavish meal and speeches that went on for over an hour and a half. Tic Tac’s best man, his son Darren, who was by then drunk, regaled the guests about his father’s murky past and two years spent in prison for race fixing. All the while, Tic Tac Teddy sucked on a large cigar, looking very chuffed with himself while Queenie sunk further down in her chair, willing the whole thing to be over. After the meal, Lydia and Tic Tac took to the floor to ‘dance’ to the 1972 song, Crazy Horses by The Osmonds, in some kind of hideous equestrian mime, before dragging their friends and family onto the dance floor to add to the humiliation. Halfway through the evening, Lydia strode over to Queenie, with a very short man in a gold and black top that made him look like a small bee and demanded she danced with him, shouting above the music, “This is Clive. Don’t be put off by his height, he’s got a big personality!”

Thursday 29th September 2021

On Sunday I popped in to see Devora Gloriana at the Last Gasp Residential Home. I didn’t jump up on her lap as I didn’t want to risk setting off her personal alarm and be the cause of starting a third world war. She patted the stool next to her and I clambered onto that and received a bony-handed head rub. While I was there, one of the carers brought round some small tubs of ice cream for the residents and I was presented with a lid to lick. This reminded Devora about the premier of her first film and how Sir Laurence Oliver “Larry” ended up selling ice creams during the interval as the intermission girl hadn’t shown up for work. Looking into the distance she said, with a chuckle, that she was once offered the part of ‘Maggie’ in a film called ‘Cat On A Hot Tin Roof’. It was at a time when all the Hollywood directors were knocking at her door so she told them to give the part to an actress called Elizabeth Taylor. Who, more importantly, I wondered, played the Cat? 

This week there has been a petrol shortage across the country due to there being no tanker drivers so on Monday, as I couldn’t find Marjorie, I wandered into Town and sat on the wall of the garage to watch the growing queue of cars and listen to a conversation between two drivers:

  Driver 1- (Striding over to the car in front and looking at the amount registered on the fuel pump) “Excuse me, have you really just put two pounds worth of fuel in your car?”

  Driver 2 (Elderly Gentleman) – “Of course, there’s a shortage. I heard it on the news.”

  Driver 1 – “Look, I’ve been queuing for over an hour. I’m a paramedic. I need to be able to get to work. Surely that wasn’t a necessary journey?”

  Driver 2 – “Well, you never know! I might have to go out. This could go on for months.”

  Driver 1 – “It won’t go on for months if people stop panic buying and in any case, you’ve obviously got nearly a full tank!”

  Driver 2 – “I’m not in a panic. I’m quite calm. Better safe than sorry but I don’t drive much since I retired. Look, could you reverse a few feet and ask the woman behind you to do the same? I might as well make an afternoon of it and do my tyre pressure and water while I’m here and I’ve got a nice egg & cress sandwich to eat and the crossword to finish.”

  Driver 1 – “Would you like me to pop the kettle on?” Shakes head and returns to his vehicle.

On Friday, as I walked past Alexa, she sprang into life and asked if I’d like the name of a local garage. Pointless, I thought…

Thursday 22nd September 2021

Queenie’s friend Linda has come to stay after she separated from her husband. From what I can gather through the weeping and wailing, Malcolm has run off with the woman who does his back waxing. I asked Marjorie what this meant and she explained it was a bit like the depilatory cream debacle that left Queenie chasing me around the bathroom determined to wash my fur, after I’d rubbed up against her legs. The flat is quite stressful at the moment with lots of intense, late night discussions, bottles being opened and shouty mobile conversations that seem to end with the phone in pieces, on the other side of the spare bedroom. I’ve met Malcolm and to be honest, I would have thought Linda wouldn’t have minded the Back-waxer taking him off her hands. Queenie, for her part, just looks tired and a bit fed up. On Monday afternoon, I wandered past Linda’s bedroom and saw her in bed with two discs of something on her puffy, blood-shot eyes. Keen to get a better look I jumped up on the bed, crept up to her face and had a noisy sniff. Without warning she shot up with a yell and what turned out to be cucumber discs went flying as I dived for cover under the bed. Queenie abruptly terminated her conference call and came running to Linda’s rescue, retrieving me and firmly closing the bedroom door. Rolling her eyes, she whispered in my ear that hopefully this wouldn’t go on for much longer. I did feel a bit bad at upsetting Linda, so later that night by way of an apology, I brought in a dead vole (pre-owned but in very good condition) I’d found at the end of next door’s garden and presented her with it at two in the morning. Ta da!

Maria Bianchi from Number 42 has finally passed her driving test and according to Queenie, The Avenue is on ‘high alert’ for a crazy red Fiat. I spotted her car on Wednesday parked on a double yellow line outside the bakers with her hazard lights winking. A brave Traffic Warden was in the process of issuing a ticket when she barrelled out, spotted him and ran across the road cursing in Italian. He stood his ground for a few seconds before Maria chased him down the road brandishing a large baguette. Short in stature and carrying a lot of weight, speed wasn’t exactly on his side, so when he stopped to draw breath, hanging onto the side of a pillar box, Maria caught up with him and, puce with fury, whacked him repeatedly on the arm with the loaf until it broke into pieces. People stopped and stared and filmed the incident with their mobile phones, as the Traffic Warden fled, covered in breadcrumbs shouting something like, “Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this. I’m not taking a battering from you!”

“To be fair it was more of a ‘bread crumbing’,” said a man in the growing crowd of onlookers.

 “I think,” said a passing American tourist to his partner, “That must be what the brochure referred to as street theatre.” Looking impressed, the woman responded “Wow, it sure was realistic!”

Thursday 16th September 2021

This week has been a little uncomfortable. A young, black fem fatale has developed what could only be described as a cat-crush on me. She appeared about three days ago and began following me around, presenting herself to me in a very flirty way and incessantly calling for me, even at four o’clock in the morning which had Queenie up making tea as it was impossible to sleep with all the yowling. To be frank, I’m quite bewildered by it all and can barely dare to go outside lest she begins again. On Monday, she was dancing around me on the patio, doing everything to get my attention while I looked the other way and pretended not to notice. She didn’t get the message and I was quite relieved when Queenie called me indoors saying that watching the pair of us reminded her of a 1980’s school disco. In the end, she called the local lady who finds lost cats, in an attempt to find her owner as the cat in question was ‘clearly in season’. I went for a rest, not wanting to be party to any of the detail. I just hoped it would stop very soon as all the uninvited attention was exhausting and felt tantamount to stalking. 

Queenie was commenting to Marcus from Number 18 that, since Covid, the country is being dictated to by tagline for example – See it, Say it, Sorted / Safer Greener Cleaner. She said she found herself saying loudly, ‘Catch it, Bin it, Kill it’ when someone sneezed in her face, without a mask or using a tissue. Ordinarily her vocal tag line would have been far less benign but it just fell out of her mouth like it had been waiting patiently in her brain for an opportunity to use it. Given that this type of advertising appears to be so effective, I’ve come up with one – ‘Cat, Pamper, Treat’. I’m just hoping it lodges in her brain in the same way. 

Devora Gloriana from the Last Gasp Residential Home was 100 on Sunday. I was invited as guest of honour to her party and she insisted I sat on her lap, and accept all manner of tasty offerings. When the local paper journalist asked what advice about life she would give to people today. She thought for a moment and with a theatrical sigh, looked into the distance and said, “As I told Clementine Churchill, ‘Clem darling, tell Winston to give Adolf a call as there’s very little that can’t be resolved over a dry sherry…’” A little taken aback the reporter asked if she had any other (printable) advice, to which she responded, “Well…When President Kennedy got murdered, I gave Jackie a call and said, ‘Jackie, It’s a terrible tragedy but life is short. Take my advice and find yourself a nice rich man with a boat!’”

Thursday 9 September 2021

While waiting (patiently) for my breakfast on Tuesday, I watched Queenie preparing for the day. The whole human ritual of showering, moisturising, blow-drying, applying make-up and getting dressed is quite exhausting, even to watch and makes me feel very glad, despite the odd fur ball, that I have only one outfit. Small wonder that people are preferring to work from home where they can remain, unwashed and in their onesies all day long.

Tic-Tac Teddy and Queenie’s mother, Lydia have decided to get married. At Tic-Tac’s suggestion, the wedding is to have a horse racing theme with guests asked to dress up as Grand National riders. Unfortunately, the invitations went out with the misprint – “jokey” theme. Queenie’s brother Stephen said after the steak tong incident, he and his family would not be attending and in any case, the whole thing was a “joke” and would their mother be wearing the number ten on her back which roughly represented the number of failed marriages she’d clocked up? Queenie told Lydia she would not go to a wedding resembling a massive Battenburg cake or court jester, so Lydia said in that case, she might like to stick to a conventional A-line dress with a nice ‘fascinator’. Queenie retorted that she hates fascinators as she thinks they make peoples’ heads look large or that they’re just too tight to buy a whole hat! As pets aren’t invited and I will have the house to myself, I am planning a romantic evening in with Marjorie. 

On Friday, a member of staff called ‘Alexa’ arrived at the flat. She’s not actually ‘living in’ as she communicates through a speaker in the corner of the room. I had a look round but I couldn’t find her so, to be honest, I’ve no idea where she’s sleeping. Regardless of her domestic arrangements, Alexa has a lot to say for herself and she knows all sorts of things, if asked. Queenie addresses her rather abruptly, yet she always answers politely. I’m slightly concerned she never has a day off or goes out. In the spirit of being helpful, she sometimes offers to do things without being asked and Queenie just gives a very lofty, “Alexa stop.” Yesterday while working from home, Queenie shouted from her bedroom, “Alexa what time is it in Sydney?” To  which Alexa answered “As a noun, squirrel can have a few meanings…” I can only assume she’d dropped off to sleep or was pegging out the washing and hadn’t heard the question. 

Thursday 2nd September 2021

At number 21, The Avenue, this week, Mrs Waters has been looking for a contractor to build an extension to her house. So far, she has invited quotes from around 25 builders. Some are emerging red-faced and ruffled after being given a ‘tour of the site’, while others have made second or third appointments to absolutely nail down the specification. Her posts on the website for local tradespeople had to be taken down as it turned into a rather strange version of Tinder. Queenie and her friend Marcus Briggs from number 18 thought it was hilarious that in the ‘State Your Requirements To Your Builder’ box she had put: “Well over six feet high, steel core, any colour, weight bearing, solvent.” 

On Bank Holiday Saturday, Marjorie and I chilled on Judith’s sofa with a little recreational nip and listened to ‘Cool For Cats’ by Squeeze. 

On Sunday I made a new friend at the Last Gasp Residential Home. I snuck in when I noticed they were having crayfish sandwiches for tea and the person in question was kind enough to donate a corner of her’s.  Her name is Elsie Smith but she likes to be known as Devora Gloriana and she told me she could tell me stories about her life that would make my fur curl. While I’m curious, I really don’t want a perm. Devora’s nearly one hundred years old, smells of talcum powder and she has white wavy hair and twinkly blue eyes. Apparently she was an actress in her younger days. I heard Gary say she still has “all her marbles” which is pretty impressive. Luke and Saffron’s son from number 36, Oliver, has marbles and we play with them sometimes. He flicks them and I dive and give them a good old swipe to send them under the sofa – game over. Whilst I get told off, it makes him  giggle. I’m a bit worried though, that if Devora gets down on the floor for a game, she won’t be able to get up again and will have to press the red button round her neck. She told me confidentially that it really shouldn’t be touched, as it’s directly connected to the mobile phone of the President of the Unites States and could easily trigger a nuclear war! Given the recent news, I think he’s unlikely to want to get involved in further conflict, so Devora needs to be very careful. As I watched her unsteadily weaving her way towards her room, with the help of her zimmer frame, after a small glass of dry sherry, I suddenly realised how fragile our existence is. 

Thursday 26th August 2021

I’m happy to say things have returned to normal in The Avenue this week, albeit Marjorie is still a little traumatised and staying in the confines of her garden. Kes has reported the gardeners to the police. 

On Monday, Rodney the iguana escapologist from Number 4 got free once again and this time was found in Alfred’s friend Mavis’s handbag. Mavis was practicing a nice waltz with Alfred in his living room on Thursday afternoon, when she saw her bag making its way independently along the sofa. Suffice to say the choice of dance very rapidly turned into the quickstep out of the room and into the relative safety of the back garden. Alfred, armchair-skilled in bomb disposal after watching copious documentaries over the years, opened the bag, from a distance with his litter-picking stick and wearing his plastic COVID face shield for protection, only to find Rodney, benignly tucking into a packet of fruit gums. I meanwhile pretended to peruse Alfred’s ornaments from the top shelf of the bookcase, until it was safe to leave the house. Andrea Delacroix was very apologetic about her errant pet and in an act of true altruism offered a signed copy of her latest gambling plumber novel ‘Busted Flush’, as a goodwill gesture. On hearing there was another copy in circulation, Geoff from Number 29, hot-footed it round and offered to purchase it for his growing collection of what his wife Carol called ‘Sychophantia’ 

Tic-Tac Teddy and Queenie’s mother Lydia visited on Saturday with Queenie’s brother Stephen and his wife Vicky, for a lovely family afternoon. They also brought their child who arrived, dressed as Spiderman. Normally that’s my cue to decamp to Marjorie’s for the day but as they were having a BBQ, I thought I’d hang around and see what tit bits came my way. Tic Tac Teddy who apparently knows everything about everything, immediately took over Stephen’s place at the grill while his ‘Princess’ Lydia, sat on a chair all afternoon, drinking wine, being waited on and feeding her grandson lots of cake. It all ended badly of course with Spiderman getting a bite from me (under extreme provocation), before he was thoroughly sick in the flower bed. Stephen, who I noticed got increasingly irritated with Tic Tac, told his mother off for feeding Spiderman rubbish all day which ruffled Tic Tac’s feathers. He told a glowering Stephen that he shouldn’t speak to Lydia in ‘that manner’. Immediately there was a bit of a scuffle with the meat tongs which resulted in the tossing of a lovely piece of fillet steak that landed in Vicky’s lap. A rather loud row ensued, before Tic Tac and his princess left in a royal huff. All was not lost though, as I tucked into the discarded steak before nipping onto the table and licking the whipped cream off the top of Queenie’s cheesecake while she was putting something back in the fridge. 

Thursday 19 August 2021

When Kes, Marjorie and I arrived home after the kidnapping and liberation, it was quite late. We’d managed to lose the men in the fields and when the coast was clear, we made our way home. I toyed with the idea of getting a black beret to make me look like a freedom fighter but wasn’t quite sure how it would stay on my head. Queenie, unaware of the ordeal, scooped me up for a cuddle and looked very concerned when I yelped, with pain. Setting me down on the floor, looking worried, she had a good feel around and found the source of the pain. The next thing I knew, I was being booked in with the vet, the following day. Suddenly, I didn’t feel very heroic and so the beret idea went out of the window and I sat on her lap for the rest of the evening, after a bit of food, feeling glum but very relieved Marjorie was saved.

Alfred from number 19 has joined a ballroom dancing class in the town and has met a widow called Mavis. She was originally from Yorkshire but married a man and moved ‘down South’ in the 1970’s. I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to visit any more in case of a swinging but she seems very nice. I watch them through Alfred’s sitting room window and they’re really quite good; not up to Strictly’s standards but much better than some of the politicians who seem to take the wrong door to the Question Time studio and find their way onto the dancing competition. Still, I’d heard being in politics meant you had to be ‘light on your feet’.

On Saturday afternoon a very big, expensive looking, gold car rolled onto the driveway and an elegant, dark haired woman got out of the passenger seat closely followed by the short, portly driver. Queenie looked quite taken-aback when she opened the door and found her transformed mother, Lydia, on the doorstep hair dyed black and styled. They stayed for an hour or so and Lydia who was dressed in a tailored suit that meant I wasn’t allowed to sit on her lap, bought me something in a jar, called Caviar. On close examination, it looked like tiny balls of black jelly, so I was a bit apprehensive. Their visit was particularly entertaining with Lydia speaking in a strange, clipped manner and behaving bizarrely, as if in an episode of Acorn Antiques. Before the car had left the driveway, Queenie had dialled her brother Stephen to break the news that Lydia had gone completely ‘Joan Collins’ and had moved in with a rather loud millionaire called Tic-tac Teddy from Bethnal Green, who addressed her as ‘Princess’. All bets are off as to how long it will last.  

Thursday 12th August 2021

I looked around at the decaying houses on the estate. Opposite us, a big dog was chained up in a front garden and a group of teenagers stood on a street corner with skate boards, smoking cigarettes and laughing. When a car appeared with blackened windows, the mood changed and they dispersed. From somewhere above, a baby began to cry and a woman cursed. The noise was all at once drowned out by a burst of loud music from a house that made the world pulsate with a monotonous beat that rose up through the pavement and reverberated through my body, making me feel a little sick. This place and its atmosphere reeked of all sorts of dangers and as I lifted my head and sniffed the air, nothing smelled right. Somewhere, in this dystopian world, Marjorie was being held captive. I forced myself not to imagine how she was being treated but busied myself instead, with following Kes, who walked with purpose along the hot pavements, hood of her sweatshirt up, avoiding eye contact with anyone we passed. Finally, she glanced round to check I was with her and she slipped into another passageway that was filled with overgrown brambles and stopped. Beckoning me to her, she bent down and put her finger to her lips. “I’m pretty sure you understand what I’m saying, Merlot,” she whispered. “They live at the end here. At the back is a big shed where they keep all their stuff. I reckon they’ve got Marjorie in there, so I’m going to have a look around. Keep watch. If you hear or see anyone coming, yowl at the top of your voice and run! I’ll meet you back in the fields.” With that, she was gone.

The front garden of the large house was filled with old lawn mowers, a rusty fridge and a sofa that had seen better days. In the driveway, I recognised the truck the men had used to take Marjorie and my heart lifted a little in the hope we would find her. Kes bent low, made her way down the side of the vehicle and crept, cautiously to the back of the house. I followed, on high alert for any sound of the men but there was nothing. When we reached the shed, she turned the handle and the door opened, easily. Inside, there was an assortment of gardening equipment, brown boxes piled nearly to the ceiling and other tools I didn’t recognise. As my eyes quickly grew accustomed to the dark, I saw a cage at the far end and in it, Marjorie lay, crying quietly. My heart felt about to burst but we weren’t yet out of the woods. I heard a door open from somewhere and voices. Kes heard it too and she grabbed me and dived behind a big machine. 

  “Who left the **** door open?” Said a voice I recognised. It was the man that abducted Marjorie. I felt my tail start to expand and Kes held me closer.

  “How would I know?” 

  “Well, we need to get the cat loaded up. It’s a long drive.” He stopped dead and swore as he realised he’d forgotten something. “You go and get the van keys and a couple of bottles of water. My phone’s in my bedroom, I think.” They moved off, talking about football and traffic, and laughing. Like lightening, Kes moved to the cage and opened it, lifting a very surprised Marjorie out. Holding her to her chest and stroking her reassuringly, she whispered in her ear as we made our way quickly back to the door and out into the sunlight. 

Just before we got to the end of the drive, one of the men reappeared and spotted us. With a shout, he sprinted towards Kes, who put Marjorie to the ground and told us to run like there’s fish for tea. As he got near, he made a lunge at Marjorie and caught the end of her tail. Hearing her yowl, I did a sort of summersault in mid air, landed next to them and bit him as hard as I could on his hand. With a yell, he loosened his grip on her and we were off, down the road, following Kes through the streets, until we arrived back at the fields, where we all lay breathless in the long grass and waited.