Saturday afternoon we had the arrival of the Woogs clan to our house for the night. The visit was fabulous and everyone got on swimmingly. What a delightful family! Those boys? Including Mr Woog? Gorgeous, inside and out. We went and had a drink at the pub, I fed the children a nutritious meal of sausage rolls for dinner, we drank champagne and ate a shit load of cheese, we lit the fire pit and cooked a fabulous dinner, I showed Harry how to make Bearnaise sauce and he made the pear and rhubarb crumble for dessert as well as setting the table for me. We drank wine, I even smoked a few ciggies with Mrs W. Rob and Mr W played darts. The kids slept, we had pancakes and coffee and packed down on the couch in the morning. It was quite fabulous and if I wasn’t having such a good time I would have taken more photos showing you all.
But the Macdonald who got the most of it? Rosie. The Guinea Pig.
As you may or may not know, The Woog’s have Guinea Pigs. Two of them! (who knew you should have two of them? Not me). And as soon as she saw Rosie she whisked her out of her cage where she has spent all of her life (8 months) with us here. She was cuddled up to Mrs Woog’s ample bosom and she scratched that Guinea Pig until Rosie was squeaking with delight (who knew they squeaked with delight? Not me). Rosie was released inside where you could almost hear her saying “How long that this shit been going on?” She loved herself sick. My girls were beside themselves picking her up and putting her here, and there, and Rosie was cool with it. She got some more scratches from Mrs Woog and after a spin her in new wheels, she parked the car, bipped the alarm on and she was returned back to her cage where she collapsed with pure joy, excitement and exhaustion. Needless to say, Rosie’s life is changed. Forever. For the better, because of the visit. And we have to get to the pet shop this week to get another one of the fuckers. Who knew they needed company? Not me. I wonder if I will be able to get them to squeak with joy in the same way? I can try.
There was also a certain almost 5 year old girl who’s heart was stolen. One Daisy Macdonald. By a certain 6 year old Jack Woog. They danced together, swapped clothes, slept in her new bunk beds, swapped necklaces and bangles and even got married yesterday morning. I performed the ceremony while Mrs W watched on from the comfort of the blanket on the couch. If she kissed him once, she kissed him a thousand times – and they were proper lip smackers with full gusto – she’s a little like her mother when she sees something she likes. Jack will be back next holidays to stay for a week. It’s been decided.
Mrs Woog and I will be feisty Grandmothers won’t we?