Punch and Judy, and Monty too
They've been so good to us in the last couple of weeks. I started putting some notes together in Neighbours. Now Mac has helped me take out the last of Monty's stitches.
When he went back to the vet on Tuesday for a check up he was knocked out so that his chest could be x-rayed to confirm that all was well there and was also to have all his stitches out. Mac drove me over there and apart from missing the turning at the duck pond and taking us to the town where the vet clinic is via a series of back roads nothing happened to back up the Fat Bastard's disparaging remarks concerning Mac's driving - which does serve to back up my belief that when it comes to driving the Fat Bastard really does know Fuck All.
One the way over Mac told us about making Elderflower wine with an alcohol content little less than that of whiskey. We swapped stories about champagnes and the Australian wine industry or perhaps that should be industries and the decline in real terms of the French wine industry which has stood still (resting on its well deserved laurels) while the rest of the world has worked its whatsits off to improve the quality of its wine output. [Which reminds me of something I need to add to myotherlist which is where I jot down the things I miss from home. Wall to wall Australiana and ancient personal history.]
Mac also waxed eloquent on home made jams that he and Judy once would make but longer have the time or space for. Instead they buy in their jam from France, holding English jams in low esteem.
This was the journey which confirmed I'd not be on the wrong track if I offered them a bottle of bubbly as a gesture of appreciation for what they've done.
Mac went on to explain how he'd scraped a living in Paris when he lived there before The War. If he's in his 80s he must have been very young to have been there before the war but that fits with Judy going there straight from school.
I also remember Judy telling me how they'd had to get some kind of dispensation or make some kind of fix because when Mac first applied for a passport - so that he could join her in Paris, it emerged that his birth was never registered! Oops. No registration = no birth certificate = no passport.
These days they spend a good deal of the time they're in the UK in the countryside where Mac flies the model aircraft he builds from scratch. I've not figured out exactly what Judy does while Mac's standing in the field with his remote control in his hand - perhaps she's topping up her suntan.
Anyway Mac drove us back to the vet to collect the cat in the afternoon. The x-ray had been clear as everyone expected, but not all the stitches could come out. Some of the cuts were on parts of his legs that are subject to major stress when he leaps or stretches and the vet thought it prudent to let them stay in for a three extra days.
Three extra days from Tuesday is Friday. The vet said he could take them out here in town which is within walking distance, even with a heavy cat in a heavy case, but added that if I felt I confident I could even take them out myself.
Now I'm not sure if that strikes you as an odd thing to say. It struck me as an unlikely thing for a vet to say but not particularly odd. About twelve years ago I cut my arm and had to have about half a dozen stitches in it. On the appointed day to return to have the stitches out something came up at work and I couldn't get away. For one reason or another the next possible chance to see someone and have the stitches (on my left arm and I'm right handed) out was a few days later. In the mean time the wound and the stitches began to itch like crazy, and one afternoon while I was on the phone I absent-mindedly scratched at those stitches caught one of them with a nail and whipped it right out before I realised what I was doing. A couple of minutes later I had all those stitches out. I had to be careful because the actual wound was quite tender and wouldn't take the touch of anything but otherwise it was the easiest thing in the world.
Monty was as good as gold and now is without stitches.
Earlier in the day I posted that I was putting up his tent so that it could be cleaned and dried before being put away for the winter. The cat has taken a liking to sleeping in the tent. As has the Infant to the idea of sleeping in the tent. So after all that work to clear my living room of Crap and Stuff, it has now been overtaken by a large-ish two-berth tent.
Bloody hell.
When he went back to the vet on Tuesday for a check up he was knocked out so that his chest could be x-rayed to confirm that all was well there and was also to have all his stitches out. Mac drove me over there and apart from missing the turning at the duck pond and taking us to the town where the vet clinic is via a series of back roads nothing happened to back up the Fat Bastard's disparaging remarks concerning Mac's driving - which does serve to back up my belief that when it comes to driving the Fat Bastard really does know Fuck All.
One the way over Mac told us about making Elderflower wine with an alcohol content little less than that of whiskey. We swapped stories about champagnes and the Australian wine industry or perhaps that should be industries and the decline in real terms of the French wine industry which has stood still (resting on its well deserved laurels) while the rest of the world has worked its whatsits off to improve the quality of its wine output. [Which reminds me of something I need to add to myotherlist which is where I jot down the things I miss from home. Wall to wall Australiana and ancient personal history.]
Mac also waxed eloquent on home made jams that he and Judy once would make but longer have the time or space for. Instead they buy in their jam from France, holding English jams in low esteem.
This was the journey which confirmed I'd not be on the wrong track if I offered them a bottle of bubbly as a gesture of appreciation for what they've done.
Mac went on to explain how he'd scraped a living in Paris when he lived there before The War. If he's in his 80s he must have been very young to have been there before the war but that fits with Judy going there straight from school.
I also remember Judy telling me how they'd had to get some kind of dispensation or make some kind of fix because when Mac first applied for a passport - so that he could join her in Paris, it emerged that his birth was never registered! Oops. No registration = no birth certificate = no passport.
These days they spend a good deal of the time they're in the UK in the countryside where Mac flies the model aircraft he builds from scratch. I've not figured out exactly what Judy does while Mac's standing in the field with his remote control in his hand - perhaps she's topping up her suntan.
Anyway Mac drove us back to the vet to collect the cat in the afternoon. The x-ray had been clear as everyone expected, but not all the stitches could come out. Some of the cuts were on parts of his legs that are subject to major stress when he leaps or stretches and the vet thought it prudent to let them stay in for a three extra days.
Three extra days from Tuesday is Friday. The vet said he could take them out here in town which is within walking distance, even with a heavy cat in a heavy case, but added that if I felt I confident I could even take them out myself.
Now I'm not sure if that strikes you as an odd thing to say. It struck me as an unlikely thing for a vet to say but not particularly odd. About twelve years ago I cut my arm and had to have about half a dozen stitches in it. On the appointed day to return to have the stitches out something came up at work and I couldn't get away. For one reason or another the next possible chance to see someone and have the stitches (on my left arm and I'm right handed) out was a few days later. In the mean time the wound and the stitches began to itch like crazy, and one afternoon while I was on the phone I absent-mindedly scratched at those stitches caught one of them with a nail and whipped it right out before I realised what I was doing. A couple of minutes later I had all those stitches out. I had to be careful because the actual wound was quite tender and wouldn't take the touch of anything but otherwise it was the easiest thing in the world.
Monty was as good as gold and now is without stitches.
Earlier in the day I posted that I was putting up his tent so that it could be cleaned and dried before being put away for the winter. The cat has taken a liking to sleeping in the tent. As has the Infant to the idea of sleeping in the tent. So after all that work to clear my living room of Crap and Stuff, it has now been overtaken by a large-ish two-berth tent.
Bloody hell.
posted by Enyo @ 10:00 pm
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