Speed Date Spindle

The day had started off very well. I had had the most glorious lay in, in prime position on the bed. The reason for this night time decadence is that the Tiny Terror has become firm friends with something called insomnia. She has somehow undergone a strange resetting of her internal clock, and she perks up at around 12.30am and spends the following hours muttering grumpily whilst she chases sleep around until 5am. I think she has given up trying now and just gets on with her artwork. The bonus of this is that she gets up out of bed so she doesn’t disturb Hector…which means there is a Spindle shaped space, pre-warmed and waiting for a certain hound. I wait until I hear her final huff of frustration, listen to her scrabble for her spectacles and then tiptoe off to drink numerous cups of tea – which is not going to help matters, but she won’t listen to my sage advice. When I hear the kettle being filled, this is my cue to slither up onto the bed and revel in slumbering bliss, in a spindle starfish. 

She once tried to get back in the bed, and there followed what could be called a slight duvet related scuffle. On this occasion she won as she yanked the blanket I was laying on and span me onto my back, limbs pointing to the ceiling, she called this the ‘spindle swiss roll manoeuvre’. I made my feelings quite clear about this disgraceful lack of respect and belly flopped back over onto her (I channelled my inner Big Daddy) with some considerable force. She wheezed like a set of deflating bagpipes as I managed to force the air out of her previously triumphant lungs. Thereby followed 5 minutes of grunting and huffing by both parties as we reassembled ourselves to our mutual satisfaction. Bearing in mind that when I first gracefully landed on their doorstep, it was decided that I would not be allowed in the bedroom under any circumstances. Optimistic at best I would say, but they had not been subjected to the full, dazzling extent of my charms at that point. 

Speaking of my charms, Nelson has taken it upon himself to organise a speed dating evening for me. We must consider that Nelson’s idea of romance is very heavily influenced by an obsession for Renee and Renata, so I will admit to experiencing some degree of apprehension. There was some initial confusion when it was suggested, but he assured me that speed dating and speed skating were two entirely separate things. I still suffer a lingering ache in my left buttock from my last efforts at the rollerama, not to mention the slight laceration to my delicate under-crease. 

I am not that keen on his idea to be honest but he seems very determined, so I acquiesced to his whining and agreed to go. It was going to be hosted in the local Cantonese restaurant, why, I have no idea. At least I could snaffle a few tasty nibbles before I met my amorous doom. I was told to make an effort so I decided on a pair of crisp white capri pants, a cheeky off the shoulder number and my trusty sling backs. I decided against make up, I am a hound of course, as canines are not generally known to wear make up that would just be ludicrous. I had pre curled my fur in some sponge rollers I found in Hector’s man drawer and considered myself presentable. I grabbed by gabardine mac, bade farewell to Tweedledee and Tweedledum (basking with tea, in the televisual presence of Shed and Buried) and set off. Nelson met me outside, grinning like a prize idiot. After a couple of gins I felt suitably relaxed and decided to get on with this madness. The main restaurant had been set up with twinkly lights and candles and I must say looked rather spiffy. Nelson piloted me over to a table in the corner and one glance at it told me that this was not going to be a dignified evening of casual social intercourse. To “increase my chances”, the number of female participants was…well…just me. Nelson had set a large round table up with prospective dates. The plan was that I was going to perch on the Lazy Susan in the middle of the table and every 5 minutes I would be rotated around to greet and make merry with the next hapless victim. To make matters worse, Nelson had placed a small deckchair onto the platform for my supposed comfort. Well, I was not having that! However lonely I might be feeling, I was NOT going to be spun round like some desperate seaside strumpet, in a food based version of spin the bottle. Oh it was so tawdry! Backing away from this scene of potential horror I desperately looked for an escape route. Nelson had been distracted by a giant spring roll, so I slipped out of the emergency exit and pondered what to do next. Seeing a quiet and far more refined bar in the corner, I decided to go and have a restorative drinkie to calm my bewildered nerves. I will not go into details as I am not that kind of gal but I did meet a rather nice chap there who had escaped a similar attempt at match making, and was consoling his terrifying experience. 

It was some time later, and after a rather delightful evening of engaging chat, that I tottered out of the bar, clutching his phone number in my paw. I looked over to the restaurant, all I could make out through the partially steamed up windows, was Nelson oscillating wildly on the deckchair, whilst still maintaining a firm grip on a bottle of lager and a chop stick skewered prawn ball. The prawn ball looked nervous.

A lucky escape for me I think you will agree, less so for the prawn ball. 


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