Her indoors has long Covid. It was way back in November that we both succumbed to the bug.
To me, it was like a mild cold. Mrs X suffered, though.
She still keeps saying her taste has changed. Food is metallic or salty, or just yuck. I was trying to be helpful. All I said was: “If food tastes awful to you now, this is the best time to go on a diet.”
Her eyes narrowed. She said: “Covid or no Covid, I’m also changing my taste in men.” Oof, that was unexpected. All I was saying was… OK, I’ll be quiet now.
You don’t expect a terrible emergency to be nothing. On this particular day, two weeks ago, the shopping hadn’t been done. The fridge was almost empty. The cupboards were bare. No snacks were to be had in the secret stash that is the emergency chocolate bar box.
Some old but not yet mouldy bread languished in the bread bin. I’ll just have a sandwich, I thought. Onto two slices of wholemeal, I slapped a solitary slice of ham. To make up for the thinness of the filling, I splodged on more ketchup than usual.
Seeing me sit at the table with a sarnie was a trigger for Sleek, the youngest and hairiest female in this house. She is a lively, friendly, and hungry border collie.
She was suddenly lively, over-friendly and ravenously hungry. She jumped up on me, breaking all rules she’d been taught by her owner, almost knocking the ham and Heinz out of my grip.
The latest is that the dogs will be allowed in for meals, and I’ll have to eat in the utility room
What I didn’t realise was she had made me grip the bread so tightly that a big blob of ketchup squirted out and landed all over her nose.
The shock of a cold crimson blob on her conk caused Sleek to run off and hide in the utility room. Not realising any squirting had happened, I went shopping for chocolates.
When Sleek’s owner, the daughter of this house, returned and saw her blood-spattered hound, she went into shock. A terrible accident must have happened, although she couldn’t see any blood-smeared, sharp objects.
She began to console the whimpering canine and, with the other hand, began searching for the vet’s number on her phone. As she did, she thought there was a definite hint of a tomatoey aroma in the air.
The latest is that the dogs will be allowed in for meals, and I’ll have to eat in the utility room. That was unexpected.
Boris has gone fishing – and CalMac are fishing for ferries
Boris Johnson going off on holiday again to Greece was not what we expected. There may never be a great time for a prime minister to go on their hols, but when they are in sole charge until their successor is elected, that should be a reason to stay put for a few weeks.
Not him. He went offski to splash about with wife Carrie and the babby. Not for him, providing reassurance to families anxious about the soaring energy bills expected to hit almost £3,600 this October.
Whether you admit it or not, at the height of a major cost of living crisis, we have merely a zombie UK Government. The PM does not even bother to pretend he’s at work in Number 10. He doesn’t care. Actually, that is now not unexpected.
Nor did I expect the bosses of CalMac to read this column, but maybe they do. No sooner had I questioned last week why they hadn’t leased a vessel to fill in for emergencies, like they’ve had for pretty much years, than they got on the blower to Pentland Ferries.
They now want to lease its Philippines-built MV Pentalina. You know the one. You can’t not notice it, as it looks like a humungous, floating jam sandwich, with a catamaran hull or, as it is often described, two pointy ends at the front.
It’s not quite in red, white and lots of black, the somewhat foreboding colours of CalMac, but what the heck. It’s a ferry.
A shout-out for Sandie
Unexpected events can be wonderful or a bit disappointing. For instance, at the end of last week, my wife, Sandie (also known as Mrs X), was the official photographer at Stramash, the great annual Stornoway festival for local and other invited performers.
At one point, she was in the marquee and the MC went to the microphone. She then heard him call for a big hand for… Sandie.
She was surprised and thrilled. As an ex-performer herself, it was so unexpected. She has not performed on a stage for nearly seven years. She even took a bow.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a poster for the band then coming up on stage. She realised she may have misunderstood what was going on. The band’s name was… Sunday.
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
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