Beard Face got a good night’s sleep and awoke in a less than pleasant state. To draw a conclusion on his sleeping habits, I can sum up by saying when he gets no sleep he ends up like a zombie and if he gets too much sleep he ends up like a zombie. It’s too perplexing to contemplate any further.
This afternoon I did have something of a scare when I wandered upstairs and heard the bedsprings shifting back and forth quite rapidly. I know it’s wrong but I dared to peek into the bedroom and there was Beard Face. He wasn’t playing basketball on the bed as I’ve previously witnessed but he was bouncing up and down, doing somersaults and an array of strange techniques only a man of his standing would be seen doing both in public and in private. When I caught his eye Beard Face grinned and told me he’s training for the Olympics in 2016 and is intent on joining Team GB’s trampoline team.
I wasn’t aware that we even had one but given some of the activities that pass for medal events it wouldn’t surprise me. Charlie is still waiting on a response from Sebastian Coe who should have received an email pitching the idea of Tank Ball. Charlie’s dastardly plans, including a simple diagram, were to have eleven tanks against eleven in an open desert and with the intent of moving a football from one side of a marked area to the other. The option of firing on the other tanks was essential of course. Surprisingly, Lord Coe has yet to respond to this idea.
Elsewhere it’s been a relatively quiet Sunday. Beard Face taunted us in the evening as he likes to do. His weapon of choice is a pack of salmon flavoured chews. They smell and taste so good that the Bearded One can momentarily have us in a trance as he struggles to get the damn things out of their packets. Once he has the chews, he likes to wave them before our eyes before cooing and talking to us like we’re three year old children.
“Do you want a chew?”
Yes, you moron, we want a chew.
“Who wants a chew?”
Clearly all of us given that we’re sitting here waiting and managing to look at you without vomiting.
“What’s daddy got for you?”
Well, clearly a chew though to say you’ve got them for us is an understatement as they remain in your hands rather than in our mouths.
“Are we going to have a chew?”
No, you idiot, we are but not you. Now get on with it! See what I mean? It goes on and on like Madonna’s career though slightly less painful. Sorry Madge, I’m more a Mozart kind of cat.
I did eventually get the chew and with it the usual strokes from Beard Face and Frizzy Hair accompanied by “Is that nice?” I won’t divulge my response to that particular question but what I will tell you is that it had four expletives in it.