A conversation with my wife, the evening before Valentine’s Day 2025:
Me, “How much cock do you think is in there?”
She, “12%?”
Me, “No, it’s only 2%.”
She, disappointed, “…”.
Me, “How about leekie?”
She, “3%?”
Me, “No, it’s 11%!”
She, “…” again.
She’d bought me a 400g tin of Baxters ‘Cock-A-Leekie” soup. Its blurb:
“The finest leeks, succulent chicken, tender rice and freshly grated juicy carrots – that’s what makes our Cock-a-Leekie soup the very best. No wonder this traditional Scottish recipe is loved by so many.”
– Audrey Baxter.
From the Baxters shop site, a photo of a typical tin of Baxters Cock-A-Leekie soup.
The area of Mollie cat’s back immediately ahead of her tail has always been sensitive. I recently noticed it had become ‘crusty’ under her fur – as-if she had a bad case of lumpy dandruff, and what I’d term hyper-sensitive (I am not a nurse/doctor).
We got home from the vet earlier. It’s fleas. The vet ran a fine-toothed comb through the fur, rolled the flakes/flecks, whatever they were, in a paper towel and found leftover blood. Flea poo.
So Mollie got a flea and worming treatment, a steroid injection for the sensitivity to touch (she licks and bites when it happens), and I signed her up to the vet’s health plan to reduce ongoing bills.
She’s 15 and I’m, er… a few multiples of that. It’s my very first experience of fleas, aside from the amateur nit nurse in primary school mistaking my dandruff for tiny organisms. My mum resented the implication and marched down to school to confront the errant lady, despite what we now know about the link between nits and good cleanliness. (Anyone, at any time, with clean or dirty hair it matters not, can get head lice and nits, and it’s not difficult to get rid of them).
Anyway, Pumpkin puppy already had her treatment on plan so I just need to get Stella cat’s done, and get her signed up to the plan.
And some flea spray for the house. And wash yet more bedding and…
…maybe get the girls to mention it to their friends, some of whom might be mature enough to not judge…
And only now, as I write this, has my skin started to…
Last night was Burns Night, when Scots worldwide traditionally celebrate the life of poet Robert Burns by reciting poetry, eating haggis, tatties & neeps. Or something like that.
We couldn’t find a veggie haggis this year so my wife bought a steak for my youngest daughter and me, to go with the veggies. I cooked it medium rare and cut a small slice as it was resting. I’m nurturing a cough started the day before and unfortunately coughed, accidentally swallowing the meat, which stuck in my throat.
Uncomfortable? Hell yes! I started to retch so went to the smallest room, hoping the meat went either down or out. It eventually went down.
Returning to the kitchen hoping to just relax and feel less miserable, Stella, the cat we’ve had since October and adopted in December, jumped off the counter with my steak. It fell on the floor as I shouted and as I reached for it she re-acquired it and ran between my legs, dragging the steak under her.
I finally caught her in the living room, shouted again and grabbed the steak off her. Straight back on the plate, a dollop of tomato ketchup squeezed beside the veg, and I sat down to eat. Finally.
I was chatting yesterday lunchtime about plans for the weekend, plans for 2025, and just casually mentioned the events that unfolded in my ‘Hypo‘ blog post.
But it reminded me about the first time, years ago, I had to ring for the paramedics to attend to my wife.
A novice at marriage and fatherhood I was more anxious back then, understandably so given the newness of the situation. Being confronted by a sweating, shuddering, gibbering, unresponsive loved one is hard. I don’t know how my wife puts up with me!
Anyway, I’d been slowly feeding her bits of chocolate after the glucose gel pack ran out. There was no improvement after a while so I had to get the professionals in.
When they arrived I was looking after daughter1 and the cats and didn’t think about the implications of just sending the paramedics upstairs.
And then I realised I’d sent 2 strangers up, strangers who entered the room just as my wife returned to consciousness. She’s there, stark naked, spreadeagled on the bed, wondering what the hell is going on.
Time passed, the 2 pros didn’t need to do much other than observations and to advise me to get her something decent to eat.
My first request after she was out of bed, please don’t ring your mum or sister or tell anyone at work that I let 2 complete strangers into the bedroom when you were at your most vulnerable.
I’m somewhat hesitant to wish everyone a “Happy New Year!”, leaning instead towards “All my very best wishes for a peaceful and fun 2025.”
Now 2024 wasn’t the best from personal and health perspectives.
Our beloved Ruby dog passed away at the end of June, just 3 weeks before we went on a holiday close to Hadrian’s Wall, Northumberland. We scattered her ashes at Warkworth beach, I believe her favourite place on earth – it’s certainly the place we first let her run free.
Ruby dog, a white and ginger cavachon. RIP 07/2024. ❤️
The girls are doing well, the oldest on her final year of 6th form college before university, and the youngest in the first year of GCSE studies in high school. We’re so proud of both.
Our matriarch Mollie cat is 15-ish now and showing some signs of slowing down, whereas Stella cat who joined us last year is flourishing – so much so that maybe we do need to follow the vet’s advice and reduce her food intake.
My wife is getting progressively more tired of the ineptitude and absence of care shown by her work managers, and her health isn’t great – as I mentioned in another post.
Me, I’m still getting over the covid from 2023 and the whooping cough from earlier in 2024. And the blood pressure meds mean I can’t eat grapefruit or the juice. No great loss there then.
All that remains then, all my very best wishes for a peaceful and fun 2025; life’s what you make it, right?
Ouch, how the heck did that happen‽ Lots of relatively small payments added together, that’s how it happened.
And 2 lots of vets bills for Pumpkin puppy’s squitty tummy definitely contributed.
Pumpkin puppy in the kitchen, looking cute, her head on one side. She’s actually looking at the doughnut my wife is holding above my head. Mollie cat is looking on from the background, wondering what the fuss is about. Mollie, our matriarch, does not like doughnuts.
Look, she’s worth every penny of course, but we really do need to be thinking seriously of pet insurance.
The great thing about the size of the bill is it gives me the ability to focus on my New Year’s resolutions for 2025, but more on that another time.
I’m currently sipping gingerbread-flavour mulled wine, at room temperature, from a Glenmorangie-branded thistle-shaped glass.
I’ve just finished peeling the veggies for Christmas dinner. Part-way through the smallest potato escaped from the bag and fell to the kitchen floor.
So I apologised out loud and picked it up, promising to return it to its family and friends. They’re all peeled now ready for chopping for mashed & roast potatoes, everyone back together again, to fulfil their promise, their destiny.
Yes, I said that to the smallest potato, also out loud.
The smallest potato from the bag, peeled, nestling in a pan of water in the middle of the others, all of them ready for action. (Chopping, to start with).
(Apologies if anyone expected a Victorian-esque morality tale).
On Sunday (Mother’s Day over here) my wife and daughter1 had a Chinese takeaway, and not wanting anything off that menu daughter2 suggested we have a kebab from my favourite place (recent food hygiene rating 1/5, delivery time abysmal, great food though).
Donner, chicken, beef chunks, salad, sweet chilli sauce, wrapped in a naan bread. It was my first in a year (I’ve been good following a health scare). Awesome, absolutely perfect.
It was my mother’s in law’s birthday early this the week. We went out to a local chain restaurant and I had an 8oz steak (steak for the 5th time this decade), fries, not enough breadcrumbed spicy prawns but that’s not a biggie, and sweet potato fries on the side.
The steak was ok.
Dessert: oh yes. Apple pie and ice cream.
Yesterday the new technical author asked if anyone in the department wanted her to order breakfast on Fridays. “TAKE MY MONEY!!!”, I said.
So today, just after 10am, I had a spam and bacon (British back) on buttered toast. I’d forgotten to add ‘ketchup’ to the shared spreadsheet she set up but heck, it’ll wait until next week.
Last week my boss (I’ve known him for 30 years) asked if he could walk round to the ‘expensive’ cafe with me and sample one of the beef & bacon burgers (on a brioche bun with salad and ketchup) I’ve been buying myself.
He bought mine today. And it was very, very good.
A double cheeseburger similar to the single patty bacon burger mentioned. (Café’s photo).
And we had visitors at work today, so I got a chance at the leftover buffet. All I could manage was a few cucumber sticks. Crunchy.
It’s the little things in life, isn’t it.
(But I’m definitely not weighing myself for a little while).
Just over a year ago I ran a Minecraft server on a used Windows 8 tablet converted to Windows 10. It soon became apparent it wasn’t the best solution so I looked around and eventually figured out https://mcprohosting.com would give my daughters and me the best and cheapest performance.
We picked a world seed, fired it up and began to explore. My youngest daughter took to it like a, er… child does to new things, and explored the world, made and built things, exploited it as far as it could go, and then pretty much left for places she could more easily interact with her friends. No great loss there.
Before their boredom set in I built a scale model of our home and let the girls furnish it – and populate it with Mollie cat and Ruby dog.
But the very best thing I did was creat a perpetual morion machine using red stone and plungers. Here’s the YouTube video, screenshot not long before I closed the hosting account:
Incidentally, if I’d not closed the account and the details hadn’t been removed from the server, Mollie & Ruby would probably be a bit hungry by now, I can’t recall if we left the doors open when we left! (There were plenty of sheep and cows and chickens around, don’t worry)!
