Well, I am now back in the good old United Kingdom. Hello Marmite and Branstone (smooth) – the two things I miss the most while I’m away after pets, relatives and friends (in that order, obviously). Since I got back yesterday my little Siamesey has hardly moved herself from my lap.
I had a great time in Disney World. This is mainly – although not entirely – because of the fact that they have a lot of silly hats there. I love silly hats – yes, I do, and I ain’t ashamed to say so. Mr Devereux demanded that I obtain a picture of myself wearing Mickey ears. I don’t quite have that, but I do have a pretty good substitute:
That’s a chocolate martini I’m drinking there. Er . . . not as nice as it sounds, actually. You can probably tell from the expression on my face . . .
Obviously I didn’t spend the entire ten days with silly things on my head but . . . well . . . I suppose I spent most of the trip that way (hey, if you can’t do it in Disney World, then where the heck can you?).
In other news – anyone who knows me personally is aware that I have struggled with the fact that one of my Dobermans died shortly before I went away. My Mum (who also happens to be my best friend) has had to endure rather more of my (slightly tipsy) sobbing over the bottle(s) of wine than anyone should really have to deal with in such a short space of time. But because she is an eminently classy lady (and always has been), she put up with it and leant a sympathetic ear, (or got a little bit drunk with me, as the occasion demanded) – which has helped quite a lot.
When we got back from our holiday yesterday I may have acted just a little bit pathetically at the fact that only one dog was welcoming us home rather than two. I really wanted another one, and my plan was to ask my parents for a Great Dane first, then plead for another Doberman if that didn’t work, and then – if even that wasn’t successful – beg on my knees for a chihuahua. Look, I’m a poverty-stricken author so I’m still living at home (and am very happy there as my parents are almost as eccentric as I am), so I am a bit at their mercy where adding more pets to our menagerie is concerned. But to my shock, they agreed to let me have a Great Dane at the first pitch (I am earning a bit of money from the writing now, after all – and we do have quite a lot of land).
A Great Dane! I’ve wanted one since I was about six years old and first saw this movie:
Seriously, these dogs are the size of lions! What’s not to love about that? What is not to love? They’re freakin’ huge! Even bigger than Dobermans!
So I’m writing it all down here on my blog because, for various reasons, I’m probably going to have to wait until August to get a puppy, and I don’t want my parents changing their minds in the interim. But now that I’ve recorded the agreement here it effectively constitutes a binding legal contract . . . er . . . despite the fact that there’s no intent to create legal relations, no consideration whatsoever (even of the peppercorn kind), no offer & acceptance, no meeting of the minds . . .
Look, I used to be a law student – trust me, it’s binding – binding, I tell you! That Great Dane is as good as mine already . . .
(And I really love my parents right now – seriously, this would be a very good time for them to ask me for favours . . . )