Neither Mirth Nor Woe: Beefs

Neither Mirth Nor Woe: Beefs

It is a typical day in the Duck household, and I'm doing a bit of admin...

"Have you got your car insurance certificate?"

"Yes – it's in my handbag"

"Mind if I take a photocopy for the file?"

"Go right ahead. Front pocket."

"Good God --- what's that.... ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"


Three weeks earlier, The Pulpit Inn on Portland Bill

"Mmmm..." I say, "Cracking good place to come for a Sunday carvery. Saves cooking."

"The beef's fantastic – eat yours up Scaryduck Jr"

The boy slumps back in his seat. In reality, his stomach is full of gas from three glasses of Coke, and his eyes wonder to the adventure playground outside.

"I can't, mum – I'm full."

Being the tightest man in Dorset, I make the perfect money-saving suggestion:

"Just wrap in up in a few paper napkins. We can take it home and give it to the dog. She won't turn her nose up at that."

One thing leads to another, a guided tour up and down the lighthouse, a walk round the Portland Museum and down to Church Ope Cove, and before you know it, we're back home, exhausted, and the kids are beating seven bells out of each other.

You just sort of... well... forget the minor details.

Like, for example, Lucy Minogue's doggy bag. For three weeks.

So:

"Good God --- what's that.... ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"

"YAAAAAAAAARCH!"

"Yeah, you've got a point: YAAAAAAAAARCH!"

Then, the seagulls came.