The word ‘canny’ has been a rare visitor to the Geordie Ambassador’s household of late, and his missus has got a face on. Some little time ago, the GA appeared to find out if, via the Internet, I could locate a chest freezer at a price he considered reasonable, and what with Kelkoo, Pricerunner and so on, I did this thing. Now, the point is, the arrival of a chest freezer is the prelude to the demise of the remaining Trotter – i.e. the pig which survived after its littermate died of overeating (see previous blog, ‘The Trotters’). It looks as if they are going to get the freezer next Monday or Tuesday at which point, Del-Boy’s days are numbered. Mrs GA continues to voice with conviction the opinion, unshared by anyone else except possibly the sow in question, that Del-Boy should on no account be slaughtered, but be used for breeding (thus producing more pigs which are on no account to be slaughtered, etc. etc., ad infinitum). The main intimation that war had been declared in Geordieland was when she steamed down here to demand that I enquire via the Net into fridges, to the great annoyance of the GA, who kept saying at intervals that the current fridge is only two years old. The logic seems to be: he has wound me up by buying a freezer, so I will retaliate by buying a very expensive fridge (mysteriously, it seems to be three times the price of a fridge-freezer: WHY?). There are moments when old-fashioned working-class men say ‘Women!’ and you can only sympathise. Oh, and by the way. She won’t have the freezer in the house, it’ll have to be in the garage: she is sure that if the cats have to share their space with the mortal remains of their old playmate, they’ll get all upset. Personally I think ‘yum, yum, nice for cats’ will be the burden of their song at any point when bits of Del-Boy make their appearance, but as many people and dogs have pointed out over the years, I have no finer feelings.