He is so sweet!

or: The follow-up on 'Names ...'

I really mean that he is sweet! Nury actually visited Incredible Ladies and sent a very kind response on my comment, thankfully not referring to the misspelling of his name. Phew!…

However, to some extent I mean it as well in a sense of: He is such an innocent sweetheart! He says that he gets up at 6 every morning working for the column before he goes off to his day job. Well, the lucky ba… man!

I would love to be able to get up at that time in the morning and to do what he is doing. It’s my dream scenario of a good holiday: Getting up when the whole house is still asleep, tip-toeing into the kitchen, brewing a good cuppa, sneaking up the stairs and sink into my beloved office chair, diving into the corner of the desk where the screen is patiently waiting for me. I wouldn’t even switch the lights on. The screen gives just enough light to see the keyboard, it’s cosy like a candle light, the mind starts floating and my hands and my brain will do the job while the rest of my body is still half asleep – the only noise you will hear is the clicking of the keys and a ssspph and an ahhhh from drinking too hot cappuccino.

But no! Dream on girl!

I get up at 5:30 and while I try to shake off the sleep sitting on where people usually sit in the bathroom first thing in the morning, the door flies open with a bang and a little black cat strides in, purring and mewing. If I don’t hurry I might even get scratched a little. So I quickly finish whatever I was doing following him into his food yard opening a debate which of the 100 flavours might be the one for today.

This goes along with loads of grooming and petting – without he wouldn’t eat and thus going on my nerves for a bit longer.

By now I’m awake throw a toothbrush and some water into my face, a slab from the first pot of cream I get hold of – hate it when the cleaner mixes them up, used foot cream once, brrr - changing into old clothes, wambling downstairs only to bang the door into the other cat. He never learns to sit next to the door, he always waits in front,… always! Hardly make it to the kitchen as he is using my legs for slalom exercise. Same discussion… which of the flavours,… Bliiingg! Fish tank switches the lights on. Hungry fish need feeding, cat comes dashing after me as this is the place where he gets brushed, but we need the food as well. Food is best after brushing tummies – so back to the kitchen – slalom again – back with the food bowl – grooming cat. Eventually: Cat eating!

Ten past 6! By this time Nury should have picked up his cuppa and finished contemplating on what subject to write about. I eventually make it to switching on the coffee machine, pierced by the sullen looks of the garden birds lining up on the patio furniture. I could ignore them, but especially at this time of the year there are a few blackbird daddies looking like having escaped hell. Heartfelt sympathy! So while I burn my mouth on the too hot coffee, I get the bird food ready – oatmeal with biscuit, apples, raisins, bread; I know I’m bonkers, but they need a balanced diet, don’t they? They have kids to look after!

By 7 – that would be when the Asian gentleman is about to apply finishing touches to the 550 word masterpiece of the day – I’m knackered, dirty, hungry and now have to get ready for work. Another half hour of bathroom wizardry is needed to turn me into something office suitable, one last check through the handbag and head cuddling of cats – 7:45 off I go.

Another 15 minutes later the master of the house is called out of bed by the soothing voice of Andrea Bocelly, finding the cats happy, the kitchen tidied and the breakfast prepared. Not that I would envy him or the Asian gentlemen – only turning a very little bit yellowish-green right now – at least the whole thing brought me another column.