We are Detective.

In 1983 the Thompson Twins were on the lookout, perhaps for the missing plural consonant at the end of their UK number 7 hit. This alphabet catastrophe was just the latest in a set of misdemeanours for the group. None of their members were alas called Thompson, they were not by any means twins (3?) and to top it all, were not even related. 

Such intrigues! What better way however, to introduce the peculiar happenings in Whangaparaoa this afternoon.

Having performed a swift "mini-vacuum", (just like a thorough spring clean, but quicker and less exhaustive), it was time for a spot of lunch. As the autumn sun's rays filtered  through the clouds, the garden provided an enticing haven to enjoy a sandwich. As I tucked in heartily, I noticed from the corner of my eye a glimpse of gingery orange from nearby. It appeared to be our enormous ginger cat, Jinsy, sitting in foliage and silently staring at me.  This is not new, for he often hides and stares, like one of Emil's detectives....

Lunch was soon over, followed by a nap, but there was no movement from the Orange Overseer hidden in the foliage. 

"Jinsy" I called. No affectionate mew in retort, just quiet immobility.

He had become the silent sentinel. 

This was most odd, and quite un-Jinsylike. This warranted investigation.

There was similarly no movement as I approached... "Jinsy" I called again.

Perhaps he was stuck, but then why no movement?

As I grew nearer and my eyes focused better I first gasped, and then giggled..

Instead of a noble feline warrior stalking his prey, I had been the unwitting victim of a newly placed terracotta pot.

 Next time I must remember to take my glasses into the garden.

Together Forever

As I sped to the chemist this weekend, Bluetooth blaring out Rick Astley's 1988 dance hit, the sun, like the audio, was streaming in. I think it would only to be fair to say that given the evidence in his videos, Rick was not one of the worlds greatest dancers.

 Indeed many pop kings and queens have been the inspiration for dances;  Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk, Madonna’s Vogue, and Mud’s Tiger Feet for example. Rick alas was not blessed with such cavorting excellence.

On the other hand, I prided myself on being a bit of a disco dolly,like a toe tapping Happy Footed penguin.

In these halcyon days of the late 80’s London, the hot summer nights were boogie night. If there was ever a Kool, I was in his gang.

As I climbed from the car and bopped into the chemist, I spied my reflection….checked shirt, slim jeans.. Eighties fashion has come full circle and is now in Vogue again.  I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky.

Bursting forth like a new Stock Aitken and Waterman record, memories came flooding back. The combination of the warm autumn sun, the clothes and the efforts of Mr Astley sent me straight back to the summer of 1988….Dance music, parties, pub “sessions” and falling asleep on the underground. Young, single, living in the capital and enjoying life to the full.

I think it’s no exaggeration to say I was a “bad” diabetic then…Sugary drinks, crisps, missed meals and some rather dubious parties may all have contributed to the neuropathy and related problems culminating in renal failure in 2009.

But unlike the eighties some things do not return, the Filofax, printed London A-Z’s,  and my diabetes.

I truly thought we would be together forever.