118: Frost

My dinner wasn’t in the dog, it was on the dog.  He’d apparently retrieved the sausage and the bacon easily, but when I arrived home there were still most of the beans caked into his fur.  Jasper is very wriggly but even he can’t snaffle bean juice from between his own shoulder blades, for goodness sake.

I couldn’t find any white or yolk on the dog but the sticky yellow splodge on the plate left in my spot at the dinner table led me to think there was at least one sunny-side up, if not two.  That sparked the first twinge of anger I had.  Soft eggs are my favourite bit of a fry up.

In the kitchen, my four-pack of Guinness stood warming on the hob.  And several bottles of bottle-aged ales had been shaken so the sediment floated angrily around inside the glass.  Then they had been laid down on their sides.  On their SIDES.

It wasn’t even as if I hadn’t thought about ringing home.  I got the beep-beep-beep of an engaged tone around 6.30 and then it was my turn and after me Joel was up and his was a really close round.  I knew if I rang when I remembered at 9.50 Veronica would be cool towards me, cold even.

I took a warm Guinness into the lounge and flopped on the sofa.  Late night TV can be decent viewing, you just have to find the right channels.  I searched for the remote, finding it after ten minutes stuffed as far as a small arm could reach under the bottom of the sofa.  I don’t have a small arm.  Not as small as Veronica’s anyway.

I pointed the remote at the TV and clicked, but nothing happened.  I tried again.  And again.  Surprising, they never work if they have the batteries removed.  How did that happen, I wonder.  Back in the kitchen and searching drawers, it seemed that every single battery we owned had disappeared.  No, that’s not quite true.  Every single battery of the size the remote control took had disappeared.  Please don’t have fed those to Jasper as well.  He’ll be bunged up for days.

I decided I should probably sleep on the sofa.  My head hurt too much to face the wrath of Veronica after the night I’d had.  She’d taken the blanket upstairs and I noticed my big coat wasn’t hung under the stairs like usual.

Still, the night would surely be less chilly than if I tried sleeping in our bed.