If you can't beat them...
Exactly how much shite can one man buy on eBay? A newsletter to find out...
Surprise! Bet you thought I'd just given up on writing this newsletter in a fit of lockdown-induced malaise. You'd be right actually. It's all been a bit shite hasn't it? One minute I was putting Baileys on my cornflakes in anticipation of a jolly merry Christmas, then I looked at Instagram for a bit and bugger me it's the beginning of March and I’ve barely left the house.
Anyway, since Christmas, everything has changed, but also nothing has changed. I suspect Lee is operating an underground speakeasy style meat-racket from our garage, but more on that another day.
First, let’s backtrack to Christmas. What do you buy the man in your life who hates cats and has everything? This is my life at the start of every December, and this year, despite the lockdown misery, was no different. Lee is absolutely impossible to buy presents for. If there’s something his strange little heart desires – say, a half-ton immoveable pizza oven, or ten flaming tiki torches or even a glittering puffball jacket the size of an asteroid – he’ll just buy it for himself as regular readers will know.
I’ve probably already discussed in this newsletter the memorable year when he said he ‘didn’t want anything really’ and thus, got ‘nothing’, which really didn’t go down too well. So this year, feeling reckless I just thought bugger it – if Lee can buy any old shit for himself and call it family assets then SO CAN I.
So, we now own two kittens. Meet Diesel and Hugo: (names they came with but which seem to be sticking)
This is controversial for two reasons. The first is that Lee really does hate cats. The second is that for a man who doesn’t even want one cat, getting two at once is quite the leap. Lee’s stance on cats can be boiled down to two often repeated phrases, which are that ‘cats are good for one thing and one thing only and that’s target practice’, and also that ‘if cats were bigger they would kill you and eat you and I don’t need that sort of menacing indifference in my own house’ because presumably, he gets enough of that from me.
So in all the years of our relationship, I’d never even entertained the idea of getting a cat, until one day, it just suddenly seemed like the best idea ever. We’re in the house all the time. The children are bored of each other and us and could do with something else to love/harass. A cat could walk itself! We’d have to do literally nothing other than put down food! It would probably not even smell bad! It would mean the kids would shut up about getting a dog!
Hating all cats has been a constant theme for Lee ever since we met when he already owned a massive, idiot dog, Boo. Since she died years ago, we’d entered into a tacit agreement that we needed a break from pets for a while. The children had been wearing us down for years to get another puppy, but frankly, we’re just too lazy to take on another dog.
This was mainly because for a little while, we owned not one but two massive otter hounds - Boo and latterly her evil twin, Mokey. They’re pretty rare in this country, probably because no-one in their right mind would choose to own a breed known for being absolutely untrainable. If you’ve never seen an otter hound, you can picture one by imagining a drawing of a fraggle a child might produce if they were also high on glue and using their left hand to hold the sharpie. Otter hounds are a huge shaggy, stinking, goofy, wild hot mess and at 6 stone each were a bit unwieldy.
(not actually our dogs, but the spitting image of the idiot beasts)
Any time we found ourselves considering getting another pet, we’d list out memorable dog-based failures from the past, to remind ourselves why this would be a terrible idea. These included:
That time we came home to find they’d turned the living room into a swirling feather snowglobe by gleefully destroying every cushion in the house
The shame associated with having our dog returned to us by nearly every single resident of the village at some point or other after their repeated solo ‘adventures’ once they had learned to get out of our garden unaided
When one of them nibbled a perfectly circular hole in one heel of Lee’s brand new leather Church’s brogues, cleverly rendering both shoes utterly unwearable.
Walking down the garden path and glancing up at our bedroom window to see both hounds (who categorically were not allowed upstairs) eyeballing us whilst joyfully jumping on our bed barking their heads off like the boxer dog in the john lewis trampoline Christmas advert. Insult to injury – heading upstairs to find they’d pissed on it too, the bastards.
That time one of them stole and wolfed down a chicken wing, then vommed it back up, and before we could do anything to stop it the other one rushed in an yammed it down too. (This still makes me gag thinking of the abject horror of the scene)
The general stink and tumbleweeds of dog hair which used to roll around the kitchen floor
Brown Tuesday.
Brown Tuesday was a shocker. I’d smelled the unmistakable smell of shit from the garden gate, getting stronger as I helped a toddler and baby down the path to the front door. Opening the kitchen door I noticed two things. 1. The contents of the bin strewn all over the floor, and 2. The floor had changed colour entirely. A liquid lake of putrid dogshit extended wall to wall, posing a tricky conundrum: how to enter the house, let alone clear this up? Should I leave the children to take their chances in the garden alone while I cleaned it up? Or attempt to wade through it carrying them to some other place of safety inside the house?
Turned out this was a moot question, as in her distress, the dog had run the liquid shit all through the rest of the ground floor. There was not a single room without pooprints. By this point all three of the humans were crying and to this day I cannot remember what I did with the children, but what I do remember is that after an hour of bleaching, scrubbing, mopping and cleaning, the house still absolutely stank.
It was a few hours later, Lee now back too, when we ventured upstairs to put the children to bed and discovered the reason the house still stank. Upstairs was, if possible, even worse. The idiot creature had obviously been so startled by her own projectile shitting arse that she’d run away from it, then started again, prodigiously, in our bedrooms. Dark times.
So, no dogs. After a few weeks of secretly browsing dubious gumtree adverts offering kittens for sale and wondering which of my kidneys to sell first (HAVE YOU SEEN THE PRICE OF A KITTEN?), or how to persuade Lee that we should get one, I like to think that it was fate which led me to check the cat rescue website the exact minute they posted an advert for two little black and white brothers needing a home in early December. Channelling what I imagine is the same impulsive spirit which led Lee to buy any one of these other stupid things we own, I emailed on the spot saying we’d take them.
It was the right thing to do. They’ve brought (75% of) our household so much delight during these last few miserable months, and even though Lee vowed not to have anything to do with them, I did once see him stroke them and I have to commend him for going along with it (despite not really giving him any choice in the matter). They give my heart a little pinch of joy when I look at them, like the feeling of tightening a ribbon-bow taut on a gift; their little scampering soft bodies padding around our house like they’ve always been here, filling the place with simple life and movement when it’s so lacking at the moment.
I’m deliberately glossing over some teething problems like how a few weeks ago I was woken up by first a cat then the hardback book the cat had knocked off the shelf above our bed landing on my face, or how the other day both of them got stuck thirty feet up our apple tree for quite some time (alarming, but also, amusing).
If writing this newsletter has taught me anything, it’s that we should all embrace impulse purchases once in a while. I’m pretty happy with mine…..
Funny good stuff to bring you joy
Well, since it’s been so long since the last newsletter, I’ve watched a HELL of a lot of telly that’s been good. I’m just going to rattle off some worth a look if you’ve not yet seen them - some funny, some cheesy but comforting:
Bridgerton - gorgeous to look at, wildly historically inaccurate, don’t be put off by it being a period drama, it’s full of shagging and I fancy literally everyone in it.
The Serpent - I binged this in two days. Based on a true story, it’s fascinating and chilling without being too showy. Beautifully shot, incredible 70s vibes, I defy you to watch it and not want to get some skinny flares and a headscarf and take loads of drugs.
The Great - So, SO funny and filthy, the script is the sharpest I’ve seen since fleabag, and I absolutely love Nicholas Hoult giving big ‘Westley from the Princess Bride’ sarcastic energy as the Emperor of Russia. Trailer doesn’t do it justice I don’t think, presumably because you cant swear like a navvy in a trailer. Just watch it, it’s ace.
As homeschooling draws to a close, this is the most relatable content I’ve seen yet. I found this via Sarah Turner aka The Unmumsy Mum’s page which is well worth following. She started her hilarious parenting blog around the same time as I started And Other Idiots, and I’ve always really appreciated her dark humour. One of us is now a three times bestselling author, and it’s not me, but I always like to think in a parallel universe it might have been. Ah well. Follow her for more funny shit like this.
Here’s one of those videos which gets funnier the longer you watch it…
On that note, have I mentioned already that Schitt’s Creek is also my new favourite telly? Stick with it for a few episodes, then follow this Twitter for out of context Schitt’s Creek memes. This one makes me howl.
Seeing as this week is cat-themed, please enjoy this nighttime disturbance
Despite cracking out my snowboard in the fields behind my house when it snowed the other week, I’m feeling sad I won’t get to the alps this year. Second-best is watching snowboarding from years’ past on the telly. Please enjoy this alternative commentary
That’s it for now. Next time - meat-rustling? Metal-detecting? Who knows. I’ll endeavour to not leave it three months before writing again though….
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Who am I anyway?
I'm Lindsay. Bit of a dickhead, freelance writer for money, author of And Other Idiots and other internet shite for kicks. This newsletter will be a short story of some idiotic exploits from quite close to home, for no other reason than to make you smile every two weeks. Exactly how much shit can one man buy on Ebay? I intend to find out.
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