Spindlehound – The Cinzano Years

Today marks an exciting day pals! It is exactly four years ago that I was politely encouraged into a capacious car boot with a furry toy pig and was driven to a pub for a tasty snackette.  All of which seemed to be a good sign of things to come I think you will agree. After some awkward small talk about the weather, we eventually trundled on to a ramshackle place in the country that was to become Spindle Towers, my home. 

We have been reminiscing about the early days and I think none of us knew what to make of each other, as we eyed each other warily. From my perspective, Hector appeared to be a fine upstanding chap with a lively interest in Land Rovers, beard conditioning and Fruit Pastilles, and the Tiny Terror, my marauding muvver, bounced about a lot and had a fondness for Dr Martens, sock suspenders and an unquenchable tea habit. 

After I had delivered my rather witty summing up of their adorable foibles it was my turn to wear the cardigan of verbal love, from my beloved staff. Which didn’t go as expected.

They looked at each other and there then came forth a barrage of insults, all of which are quite, quite untrue, and in nine out of ten cases, the incidents were all Nelson’s fault. We no longer talk of the one incident which was my fault, although I have apologised to everyone involved, several times, and have promised never to use the sausage maker again. 

I decided fairly early on after arriving in my new home that I would make note of the day to day experiences of me adopting two haphazard humans. This has since turned into a long running blog which I think has surprised us all!

Looking back on our escapades, I must admit that we have had some splendid times, I shall refer to them as The Cinzano Years. I have had a quick flick through my past missives, and I am staggered to realise there are 84 diary entries/blogs in total so far! 

Strangely they do seem to feature recurring themes…Nelson and his unwieldy appendage and buttock toupee, disgraceful nights in the Velvet Marmoset, dubious poetry attempts and my custard cream dependency. *Please note I am now a member of C.C.A. and I am receiving the finest treatment available to hound, although I still continue to eat them with wilful abandonment so I suspect it isn’t working…

Like many people, the national lockdown is having a strange effect on those that lurk within the confines of Spindle Towers. Boredom and lethargy have silently crept in through the double glazing and kidnapped our usual sunny demeanours.  Instead we have all begun to flump about the house in our pyjamas, indulging in mid meal snaffling frenzies, and may I also say, the standard of housekeeping has dropped considerably now that nobody comes to visit us and bear witness to their habitation conditions.

Hector is especially grumpy today as The Tiny Terror accidentally pulled a thread on his new, favourite jumper when it got caught on her tooth. She has yet to provide a satisfactory explanation for why she had her gnashers were bared in close proximity to his jumpered area. Suffice it to say, she is very bored with staying at home and has taken to harassing him whilst he is trying to work. 

As we were recovering from the jumper assault, we received some worrying news from our favourite night time haunt, the Velvet Marmoset. The VM is a very small venue, of which we have a vested interest, financially and emotionally. 

It caters for those with specialist notions of life, and has previously been described by me as a ‘beguiling union between a Victorian Parlour, Burlesque cabaret and underground circus.’ We have had many a splendid night there, as my diary occasionally reveals, and we really do miss going there.

Sadly it was now struggling after many months of restricted opening and we had decided to help out, it was our duty! The club was now run full time by Sister Josephne, who has cast aside her vegetable collection and moral fibre to involve herself without distraction. She had lamented upon the sad demise of the now online courses she had been running for years, which included ‘Stripping for the uncoordinated’, ‘Castanets for the Unwary’ and ‘100 ways with bicarbonate of soda’, even trying to introduce some new classes, namely, ‘making socks sexy again’, but the pandemic was really biting at the funds and it quite simply wasn’t enough. If Sister J was worried, then so were we.

After we had spoken to Sister Josephine, we decided to come together on the video chat link device and come up with a devilish plan to raise some money for the club. As you may imagine, such virtual meetings had been run with a varying degree of success in the past, which necessitated clause 167 to be added to the October minutes, which specifies that no alcohol could be drunk during a meeting again. Ever. There would also be no nudity which I think we all assumed would be the case anyway, until the surprise appearance from Mr Pendle one summer evening last year. 

Initially, this emergency committee would comprise myself, Hector, The Tiny Terror, Sister J and Nelson. (Mr Pendle still being banned.) 

On the subject of Nelson, he was confined to his caravan yet again having recently endured compulsory fumigation. He would be able to join us virtually and at a safe distance from the deep depths of his dodgy domain, we were rather pleased actually as he often emitted a strange miasma following his treatment. Nobody was surprised he had a technical difficulty with the link, he always does. We were however not expecting for him to pop up as a Elvis avatar. Sister J then popped up in front of our eyes and the meeting commenced. A plan was to be concocted!

I will naturally keep you all posted my dear pals, but until then, keep yourselves safe and well.

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