Sunday, 26 March 2017

Sunday night, my life becomes awful

It was a Sunday night in late March and the sun was fading. Dave and I were watching that morning’s Insiders, one of our favourite things to do on the weekend, when we’re not sitting in the garden looking at the nesting birds, or sitting under cars in the street, or eating our food on the verandah. I particularly enjoy the bit where we eat our food on the verandah. It’s fish from a can.

Sometimes, the fish is shredded, and sometimes it is in chunks, and usually it is in a sauce or a watery solution that I call fish water, and sometimes, it comes in a kind of loaf. I don't really mind as long as it is fish, because fish is my favourite food.

I don't really know what a fish is, but it seems to be quite a good food, and it is definitely my favourite, of all foods, though I also like hard food, particularly when it tastes like fish. 

I'll tell you more about fish later. But today, although it did include the eating of fish, was different...

Normally, things would be normal. But this Sunday night was when things went awfully abnormal. I can pinpoint the moment exactly: it was that instant when the door opened and a man came into the house with a big head, big fur and a big cage. I don’t know who he is, where he comes from or why, I only know his name is Uncle Monty. And he is everything I hate about the world.

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