Should I Really Admit To This?
Posted By Judith on 5th August 2015
I’ve never enjoyed reading, I don’t find it relaxing and prefer to spend an hour doing a good puzzle rather than reading a good book, but that’s not my guilty secret.
Two books I have enjoyed are by the author Deric Longden. He writes with affection and good humour about life in Huddersfield with his wife, also an author, and a varied selection of cats.
In one chapter he tells how the best friend and constant companion of one of his cats was a sultana called Ralph!
This made me smile as many years ago our cats had a small piece of flint that we called Russell (for obvious reasons). We’d found him in the garden and it didn’t take long for them to discover that one flick from a paw sent him hurtling across the kitchen floor like a demented curling stone.
We also have a cast iron doorstop in the form of a cockerel that we call Christopher (for obvious reasons) and one winter at Ravendale House we were visited by a moor hen, who we christened North Kelsey, again for obvious reasons.
All of which brings me to the point of my story.
A few years ago we bought a second hand sofa on EBay. Upon delivery my first job was to give it a good clean. Nestled down the back of the cushion I found one small, pink, plastic bead.
Peter immediately christened it Venerable (for obvious reasons) and having been so named it was spared the rubbish bin.
Since 2013 we have moved house twice in 9 months and endured 12 months of disruptive decorating. I have lost, found and lost again, many useful items (notably the wire gizmo that slices hard-boiled eggs) yet during this whole time I have always known the exact location of a tiny pink bead.
Perhaps I should get out more?
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