Scotch egg salad

Not much to say about today, tbh.

It’s been hot but not, to my mind, beyond what’s reasonable to expect at this time of year. Mum, of course, has treated the weather as a personal insult, and spent most of the afternoon in her bedroom which was, despite my best efforts, the hottest in the house.

While she dozed, woke up to complain, dozed, woke up to complain, etc, etc, I thought about the highlight of last night’s football. Not the brilliance of Jude Bellingham, not the passionate rowing of the Norwegian supporters, but the moment I realised I was absent-mindedly scratching Suki’s belly, and she was purring loud enough to rival the crowd in Miami.

If you know cats, you will be aware that showing the belly is an act of complete trust from a cat. Letting someone touch it… well, that’s about as good as you can hope for from a shy rescue cat.

I haven’t mentioned this development to mum, as she is already showing signs of jealousy over my relationship with Suki. I don’t want to give her more reasons to manufacture emergencies that ‘just happen’ to scare Suki away from my side and back into hiding. (Last night mum ‘lost’ her pyjamas: the moment I got up and Suki ran away, she miraculously found them again.)

And so, here is my current list of things I want from my new home, or from here if I decide to stay (maybe the garage conversion a friend suggested a while ago?):

• A private bathroom, where I don’t have someone knocking on the door, telling me to hurry up as soon as I’ve sat down (even if that someone used the bathroom mere seconds earlier);
• A kitchen where I can cook what I want to cook, with no “urgh” commentary, and no-one refusing to eat the food they said they liked just the previous day;
• Somewhere I can read, or play a game, or just stare out of the window, and not be immediately interrupted;
• A television I can watch and not have to feign disinterest in whatever is on, because if I show interest ‘someone’ changes the channel or starts talking loudly so I can’t hear what’s happening;
• And most importantly: somewhere Suki can relax, and be her purry-furry, rolling-about self all the time, and not just when mum is asleep.

It doesn’t look like a ridiculous list, does it? Ah well: soon, as I tell myself every time mum does something particularly annoying or hurtful.

And on that note – dinner. When I went to tell her it was dinner time, Mum initially refused to get up, drank only a couple of sips of the iced water I bought for her, and said she didn’t want food. I was a little concerned: had mum got too overheated?

As soon as I started getting food for myself, of course, she changed her mind. She served herself only a small portion of salad, and proved she was entirely back to normal by her judgemental “that’s a lot of food” when she saw the pile of leaves on my plate. (I like salad. So what? 🤷‍♂️)

Then – even more of course – she demolished half a raspberry and coconut cake with a lake of cream (I had my bit of cake with clotted cream ice cream, and it tasted like a fancy Arctic Roll – delicious!) and an orange ice cream lolly, then hinted strongly that she wanted me to get her another tub of coffee ice cream from the outside freezer. I politely declined to do so.

Now it’s the Wimbledon men’s final, which I’m pretending not to watch so I can watch it undisturbed, mum continually talking about coffee ice cream and how much she wants some, and a mental soundtrack of

🎵 All I want is room somewhere…

Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely? 🎵