Down the Lido

Weather hereabouts, as I have indicated, is bright sun punctuated by drenching showers. Hence the carriage-sweep looks as if it belongs to a deserted mansion in the Co. Offaly. However, in the patches of brilliant sun, the Rough Cats have taken to lying about, luxuriously sprawled, on the gravel outside the kitchen window. This area is now (in season), my Mediterranean garden, the walls lined with plants in pots. I think that the Rough Cats, due to the quantities of palms and begonias, have decided that it is in fact Brighton, or might as well be, so they are hanging out on the beach. It’ll be pink rock and fish n’chip wrappers before long, no doubt.
I had a very funny story this evening from my ex-gamekeeper’s Dad. Our much loved miles gloriosus had returned very late after a night out; and his parents, as you do, turned a blind ear to subsequent tracking about. But there seemed to be a bit more crashing about than seemed quite called for, so our longsuffering neighbour got up — this being 4 AM — to find a completely unknown young woman in the living room. ‘I don’t know where I am’, she said pathetically. ‘He drove me back here and went straight to sleep’. Not, it strikes one, the recipe for a lasting relationship. Anyway, the poor lass was duly driven home, and unless his sister is feeling exceptionally unkind, it will not be mentioned again.

2 Responses to “Down the Lido”

  1. the northern gentleman's lady Says:

    I always imagined that a certain proportion of the ex-gamekeeper’s conquests took place in a zone of unreality. But sleep?!

  2. Will Says:

    Poor girl. Maybe the chap was dreaming of joining the rough cats in Brighton..

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