My morbid adventures

Rexy

Sat, 1 Mar 2008 10:20:39 +0000

Rexy came to us some half dozen or more years before my birth. My uncle’s sister-in-law’s ex-husband (it’s the simplest explanation) was an impatient man and cruel to his canine companion. Mum demanded he come and live with us (the dog, not the man) - and so he did.

Rexy was a border collie/corgi cross. Quite peculiar looking in many respects and easily labelled as a collie with extremely short legs. He ate no preparatory dog food, only scraps. And would eat anything bar peas. Actually, peas were his party piece. He would lick them clean. A bowl of scraps would often be reduced to a vessel of that which looked like freshly served pulses. He was playful and an affable dog, though neither clingy nor demanding and a friend to all.

I’m not sure if Mum was ever worried about a new baby coming to the family but no changes to family life were implemented upon my arrival. If there were worries, they were completely unfounded as Mum tells how she was able to leave me in the shade of the front doorway, safely laid in my pram, with Rexy to guard me. Anyone making their way along our front path would be greeted with a growl. Too close, and a bark, alerting Mum to their arrival.

As I grew, as with most children, I learned through play and learned with Rexy. Mum says I would hold on to Rexy’s tale from my baby-walker and he would pull me at great speeds around the kitchen table in scenes reminiscent from Ben Hur. I’d learned to increase his speed by whacking him with the dustpan or brush. And therein lay my first invaluable lesson in life. That bullying might accomplish means to an end, though it’s never right and horrid when the rôles are reversed. Did I want to hurt Rexy? Of course not. I loved him and he loved me.

Rexy was my first best friend. He taught me what friendship was. Much to Mum’s horror, our favourite game was digging holes in the garden and eating soil. He loved me tickling his belly and I loved him licking my hands and feet. Paddling pool time was always a riot. He adored leaping about in the water with me which was always made more interesting by the addition of washing up liquid. This was beautiful serendipity in Mum’s eyes as washing him always seemed a total nightmare. The only downside was his response to cleanliness: a dash to the common to roll around in some animal excrement or stagnant pool.

As I grew older and made friends with children along the street, playtime with Rexy decreased, though he was always at hand. Always ready to show off upon my instruction, “Speak!”

I loved my friends and spent so many hours along the back alley. Time always seemed to run away with me. But Mum never worried. “Where’s André?” she’d ask Rexy. And off he’d run to find me. Mum would watch in which direction down the alley Rexy would head and wait. I knew when it was time to go home as he’d come at me with great speed, gently nibble me and tug at my clothing in the direction of home.

By the time I was six, Rexy was an old boy and his health was failing. He became incontinent and Mum would have to drag him out into the back garden to do his business. His tummy became large and swollen.

“I think we’d better take him to the vet.”

And we meant all of us, well, all of us living at home. My parents, brother and two sisters. Dunbar Road veterinary practice.

After a short inspection, the vet told us Rexy was very unwell. He was riddled with cancer and there was nothing to be done. He was in a lot of pain. The best solution was to give him an injection. He’d feel lovely and warm, fall to sleep and that would be that.

I felt quite good about this. Feeling warm? Sleep? Wonderful. So why was everyone crying?

Death. That’s why they were crying. Though I had no clue.

Indeed, Rexy did go to sleep. We were then all invited to kiss him good-bye, which we did. I kissed his snout. Yes, he was warm. But so utterly limp. His paw simply flopped back down after I’d raised it to my face. He wouldn’t wake.

In the car, everyone still crying, I asked, “Will we come back for Rexy tomorrow?”

And then it was explained to me. In its full horror. Disease. Death. Cremation.

And this was Rexy’s third lesson to me. Loss. Something I’m still trying to come to terms with today.

We were in London

Sat, 23 Feb 2008 22:22:02 +0000

It was 1984. I was twelve years old. My Father had been gone for almost three years which meant we’d become used to the peace and the tranquility as well as the lack of money. Entertainment was made in long walks, visits to the extended family in the immediate vicinity and by playing card games and similar at the kitchen table. Anything which came without cost, to be frank. So when my brother-in-law sent twenty pounds down to Bournemouth in order that we might visit him and my sister in London, Mum and danced around the kitchen and whooped.

Twenty pounds was more than enough for the tickets. There was money left over for a packet of fags for Mum and some chocolate for me.

A week later, the school Summer holidays in full swing, Mum and I took the National Express Rapide coach service to London Victoria.

“Mum, do you think we’ll go by Buckingham Palace? What about Mrs Thatcher? Will we see her? How will we know when to get off?”

The mysteries of London, although exciting, were making me anxious. And Mum’s lack of confidence in travelling the tube didn’t help. So the both of us were quietly pleased when my brother-in-law offered to meet us at Victoria coach station.

Graham was there, bang on time. Smoking wasn’t such an oppressed activity back then and was allowed in the rear half of the coach. Mum had only just put one out, though she accepted Graham’s offer of another fag on alighting. I wasn’t to be left out, oh no. A mars bar was thrust into my palm and I devoured it in my own unique way at speed. First, I bit off the nougat bottom which left the caramel and chocolate layer, some of which had melted in my hands. I sucked my fingertips clean before folding the caramel layer into three and popping the whole thing into my mouth.

And then I looked up.

Mum and Graham were twenty five or thirty metres ahead. I ran to catch up as he asked Mum if we’d had a nice journey.

Rudely, I spoke for her, “Yes, it was great. the coach went by the Thames but we didn’t see Downing Street, Buckingham Palace nor Big Ben.”

Mum reminded Graham that all previous coach trips I’d taken to London had been organised tours and we’d been shown all the points of interest from the comfort of our air-conditioned vehicle.

“We can go to all these places, if you like!” said Graham.

I did like! En route to Christine and Graham’s flat, we put together a list of all the places we’d like to go and all the things we’d like to do and see. I was indulged utterly.

“I know Chris wants to take you to the Natural History and Science museums,” began Graham. “Perhaps on Monday.”

My heart sank.

I had no desire to go to any museum of any sort. Dusty old miserable places where silence prevailed and old women drank tea in the café while moaning about the noise from the school parties. And natural history? What the hell was that? Oh, and science? Didn’t they know that I hated science?

Bloody hell...

And to top it all, I lost at cards that night, first out in whatever we were playing. I was a twelve year old sore loser. I suppose the days of letting me win were long gone; I was far too old for that. But I soon cheered up. Christine and graham had a colour television so I sat and watched that. A beautiful experience compared to our black and white set which used to belong to Granddad. The colour licence was too expensive, you see.

Sunday was a fun day. We caught the tube to Leicester Square and walked all day; Whitehall, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, along the Thames... But this Sunday was like a school Sunday. Even though it was a day off, it was far from enjoyable. There was nothing on the telly and the next day was dreaded.

Natural history? Science? Why couldn’t we go to McDonald’s again, eat hamburgers, those incredibly thin chips and drink root beer?

So, Monday. I had the rats, ever so slightly, but a grateful child I was nonetheless and not a brat. I thanked my sister at every turn and feigned excitement. But my excitement was no act on entering the Natural History Museum. Greeting us was the giant skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I screamed. Mum looked at me. I thought she was going to chastise me and tell me to be quiet. No, she simply said, “Exciting, isn’t it!”

A mammoth building, like a church, but built in dedication to the gods of education and fun. And I never before thought that those two guys were such good pals. After lunch, in a very trendy eaterie and not in some dusty old tearoom, we made our way to the Science Museum where much more fun was to be had. I’d not seen Mum laugh so much in a long time.

Around four, Christine looked at her watch. “We should be getting back,” she said.

And the day, for me, was nearly over. A day which began with me hoping would pass by in the blink of an eye. It had. Only now, I was sad that time had passed at such speed.

School began again a few weeks later in early September. Before long, after recommendations from my combined science and history teachers, I’d been moved up a set or two and no longer studied with the children who, like me, seemed only to get Cs in their end of year reports. I sat next to Darren Gilbert for physics, chemistry and biology. He seemed to always be blessed with As. Could I hope for the same? I suppose I could hope, yes. So I tried. I’d never tried before.

Legs

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 17:48:34 +0000

Hello, dear reader, and welcome to Window on your world 11, the penultimate window! Next week shall be the last!

Krafty Bitch was the only entrant this week, providing a nipple which can be seen here. His suggestion for next week’s topic is pulchritudinous.

So, next week, then, just an image will be required if you’d like to make an entry. No further information required, unless you’d like to provide some. And no need o suggest a topic for the follwing week, as there won’t be one! Well, obviously, there will be a week; time’s not about to stop. But the window will close for good.

And please accept my apologies for a lack of window last week. I’ve been (and to some extent, still am) quite depressed. But I’ll get over it. With a little help from my friends.

Green bottles hanging on a wall

Sun, 3 Feb 2008 23:44:07 +0000

Hello you kinky sods, and welcome to Window on your world 10.

Four disgraceful entries this week. Click here to see the outlandish results. Go on, you’ll be glad you did!

No nudity this week, sadly. We can only pray that things might have changed in seven days. Come on, get those bums out!

Suggested topics for next week are simplicity, everyday op-art and abs.

Get cracking!

If you’d like to contribute an image for next week, hen, please take a photograph over the next few days with one of the above topics in mind.

Email the result to me by next Sunday 09:00 (GMT) at the very latest with Window on your world in the subject line along with the following non-compulsory information:

A brief synopsis of the photograph (any relevant information you like, really - where you were, what you were doing, what inspired you, what the image shows et al).

A title for your photograph.

Which theme or topic you had in mind when taking the photograph.

A suggestion for a theme or topic for the following week.

If you offer no title for your work, it will be displayed as untitled.

All submissions will be displayed here next Sunday!

Also, I’d appreciate any thoughts you have on Window on your world, even if you’re not taking part. Is it too complicated? Should it be simplified? Should it end? Should it be monthly instead of weekly? And any other ideas or suggestions.

Jason goes to hell

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 20:36:19 +0000

Hello, dear reader - and welcome to Window on your world 9.

Four entries to excite you, there are, this week, mon amour. Click here for visual titillation.

The suggested topics for Window on your world 10 are asleep, Engrish, pieces of eight and if.

If you’d like to contribute an image for next week, my lamb, please take a photograph over the next few days with one of the above topics in mind.

Email the result to me by next Sunday 09:00 (GMT) at the very latest with Window on your world in the subject line along with the following non-compulsory information:

A brief synopsis of the photograph (any relevant information you like, really - where you were, what you were doing, what inspired you, what the image shows et al).

A title for your photograph.

Which theme or topic you had in mind when taking the photograph.

A suggestion for a theme or topic for the following week.

If you offer no title for your work, it will be displayed as untitled.

All submissions will be displayed here next Sunday!

Also, I’d appreciate any thoughts you have on Window on your world, even if you’re not taking part. Is it too complicated? Should it be simplified? Should it end? Should it be monthly instead of weekly? And any other ideas or suggestions.

Krafty Bitch did not make a suggestion for a topic last week. I spanked him. And, yes, with a wet hand. Thankfully, he learned his lesson and suggested pieces of eight for Window on your world 10. A bitter sweet action, for me, it must be said as I rather enjoyed the corporal punishment. I think KB did, too. Especially when I rubbed the Bepanthen into his botty cheeks after our marathon over-the-knee session.