Mum’s shopping spree was a great success to that respect that we didn’t get into any arguments, at least not a lot. Of course she had to point out my chubbiness every now and again whenever I needed a larger size of anything. I suspect her of deliberately picking clothes one or two sizes too small, just so she could make her statement. Maybe it would have worked better if she weren’t size elephant herself.
I found some pictures we took on Christmas day so I’ll put them up on Facebook. Oxford Street is not my favourite place to be in London, but it’s got a lot of shops and it sells what Mum wants to buy. I know that there are nicer places to go to, but Mum does not want me to go shopping at a place like Camden. She’s just acting posh. I happen to love Camden and it would have given me a chance to get some Yumchaa tea and velvet cake.
So, what did I get? I got: two pairs of jeans, three shirts, some new underwear and socks, a tie, and a lovely woolly hat that Mum hated but I loved. Mum says it messes up my hair, I said that if she didn’t want it to mess up my hair, she should see to it that I got a proper haircut that cannot be messed with. That was more or less the only argument we had. Today was a good day.
If you were wondering about my Dad’s whereabouts, he was at home. Mum had made an entire list of chores for him to do while we were out shopping. It was a list of mostly things that had to be fixed, repaired or mended; men stuff. Dad likes men stuff. Makes him feel useful. So, by the time we got home everything was more or less fixed. The tap was still a bit leaky and one of the kitchen cabinet doors was gone, but other than that, perfect.
After dinner I went to see Mr Bent. That man must be impossible to live with. Piles of books and papers blocked the door. He had to get all of that out of the way first before he was able to open up the door for me. Inside it was like he had emptied his bookcases and thrown everything onto the floor, it was a gigantic mess. I have told you about his condition, this must take ages for him to get back onto the shelves again.
After I had finished staring at the carpet of books, I asked Mr Bent,
‘What on earth happened here?’
‘ I was looking for something,’ was his reply.
‘ But,’ pause for dramatic effect ’WHAT!?’
‘ Just, some book I thought I had somewhere.’
‘ Mr Bent, please, don’t tell me you threw all your books on the floor, just because you were looking for one in particular?’
‘ Yes, and my efforts paid off; I found it.’
‘ Well, at least you’ve got that going for you, which is nice. But what
about this mess?’
‘I’ll start putting back those books tomorrow. I think I’ll put them back in alphabetical order. That might be the wisest thing to do.’
This is where he more or lest started mumbling and talking to himself. It became inaudible to me, so I tried looking him into the eyes and said,
‘ Can I help you?’
This questions woke him, it was as if it was his cue. As if someone suddenly pressed ‘play’.
‘ No, I’m beyond repair, love. Besides, what else is there to do for an old man like me?’
Can you believe it!? For one book that he’s probably not going to read anyways, because he’ll forget. At least he made me make tea this time, which is already a big change for him. He never lets anybody do anything for him.
While I was making tea, Mr Bent came into the kitchen with the dowsing rods. Of course he had an amazing story tell as well. Mind you, it had nothing to do with the dowsing rods; totally unrelated to each other. The story will have to wait till later this week, because I am deadbeat and really have to go to sleep. I got home at 22.30 and Mum was not happy about it. See me tomorrow.