My dear wife Carrie and I have been a week in our new penthouse atop The Laurels, Brickfield Terrace, Holloway.
On Saturday, I met a neighbour. Carrie had already encountered the woman, and for reasons I cannot imagine introduced me as ‘my partner, Chaz’. When I remonstrated afterwards, Carrie told me having a husband was so last century.
"Indeed,” I said, “I did become your husband in the last century.” Her description made me sound like a senior member of a solicitors’ firm. I do hope our moving to Holloway has not damaged her psyche in some way.
Monday
This morning, Carrie announced that our diet was henceforth to be plant based. I was having my normal cornflakes, but closer observation proved that the milk was made out of nuts. I did not refuse it, but did not particularly care for the flavour.
Being in the fortunate position of benefitting from the trust formed by my forebear, the famous Lupin Pooter, I spend my days in useful study and philanthropy. Carrie, however, is a human rights lawyer, so left for her place of work. I considered cooking some bacon, but deduce she has thrown it all away. So wasteful, in these needy times.
I realise that the kitchen bin is overflowing, so venture out to find where the building’s dustbins can be found. When I locate them, close to the entry to the underground car park, I meet the neighbour again. She greets me, “Hi, Chaz’”. I must correct this use of my name.
I truly like the name Charles, and am deeply thankful not to have been christened with the family name of Lupin. This was inflicted on my poor father, and his before him.
Unfortunately the neighbour’s name eludes me. I would also like to make it perfectly clear to her that Carrie and I are husband and wife.
Tuesday
Unable to bear another breakfast coffee with almond milk, I visit a café named Hazbeans, with a Z, when I go out to buy my copy of the Daily Telegraph, and ask for a white coffee to take away.
This seems to mystify the young man behind the counter. I think he must come from a distant land where they indulge in tribal customs, as his earlobes had been punctured and then stretched round large silver rings. Goodness knows what happens when he takes these out.
I repeat that I want a cup of white coffee, without sugar, to take with me. At this he says something that includes the words wanna, cold brew, Americano, flat, Irish, latte, short, long, greek, yuanyang and bulletproof. His recitation continues for a long time.
I repeat, clearly, that I want a simple coffee with milk. This causes him to launch into a second recitation, during which I catch soy, almond, buffalo, skim, oat, hemp, goat, rice and cashew, plus many more.
Close to tears, I say, “ordinary coffee, with cow’s milk.” He looks appalled, and says, “We don’t do ordinary at Hazbeans. Ours is the biz.” However, he reaches for a cup that I later learn is made from recycled banana skins, and says, “Name?”
Am I being asked to invent nomenclature for this beverage? No, it seems he needs to write my name on the cup. I reply “Pooter” and some time later a small woman shouts “Peter”. As there is no one else in the place, I make the correct assumption that she means me, hand over a considerable amount of money, receive my banana skin cup and go home. Fortunately Carrie has left for work, so I can drink this without an exchange of words.
I ponder on how a large quantity of used banana skins can be obtained.
Wednesday
Our daughter Molly calls round, and announces that it is her intention to become a man. Carrie says she is “cool with that.” I feel pretty cold about the notion myself. I always wanted a daughter, and she was a delightful child. She hasn’t been the same since she went in for making yurts. She seems very determined, and from the look of her chin is already on the way to masculinity. I enquire what other plans she has for this development, and she tells me, “I’m going to use that fine family name of Lupin as soon as I’ve had my bits off.”
I am very distressed by this entire thing, and go to my study where I watch some instructive videos on You Tube.
Image: SatyaPrem, Pixabay
On Saturday, I met a neighbour. Carrie had already encountered the woman, and for reasons I cannot imagine introduced me as ‘my partner, Chaz’. When I remonstrated afterwards, Carrie told me having a husband was so last century.
"Indeed,” I said, “I did become your husband in the last century.” Her description made me sound like a senior member of a solicitors’ firm. I do hope our moving to Holloway has not damaged her psyche in some way.
Monday
This morning, Carrie announced that our diet was henceforth to be plant based. I was having my normal cornflakes, but closer observation proved that the milk was made out of nuts. I did not refuse it, but did not particularly care for the flavour.
Being in the fortunate position of benefitting from the trust formed by my forebear, the famous Lupin Pooter, I spend my days in useful study and philanthropy. Carrie, however, is a human rights lawyer, so left for her place of work. I considered cooking some bacon, but deduce she has thrown it all away. So wasteful, in these needy times.
I realise that the kitchen bin is overflowing, so venture out to find where the building’s dustbins can be found. When I locate them, close to the entry to the underground car park, I meet the neighbour again. She greets me, “Hi, Chaz’”. I must correct this use of my name.
I truly like the name Charles, and am deeply thankful not to have been christened with the family name of Lupin. This was inflicted on my poor father, and his before him.
Unfortunately the neighbour’s name eludes me. I would also like to make it perfectly clear to her that Carrie and I are husband and wife.
Tuesday
Unable to bear another breakfast coffee with almond milk, I visit a café named Hazbeans, with a Z, when I go out to buy my copy of the Daily Telegraph, and ask for a white coffee to take away.
This seems to mystify the young man behind the counter. I think he must come from a distant land where they indulge in tribal customs, as his earlobes had been punctured and then stretched round large silver rings. Goodness knows what happens when he takes these out.
I repeat that I want a cup of white coffee, without sugar, to take with me. At this he says something that includes the words wanna, cold brew, Americano, flat, Irish, latte, short, long, greek, yuanyang and bulletproof. His recitation continues for a long time.
I repeat, clearly, that I want a simple coffee with milk. This causes him to launch into a second recitation, during which I catch soy, almond, buffalo, skim, oat, hemp, goat, rice and cashew, plus many more.
Close to tears, I say, “ordinary coffee, with cow’s milk.” He looks appalled, and says, “We don’t do ordinary at Hazbeans. Ours is the biz.” However, he reaches for a cup that I later learn is made from recycled banana skins, and says, “Name?”
Am I being asked to invent nomenclature for this beverage? No, it seems he needs to write my name on the cup. I reply “Pooter” and some time later a small woman shouts “Peter”. As there is no one else in the place, I make the correct assumption that she means me, hand over a considerable amount of money, receive my banana skin cup and go home. Fortunately Carrie has left for work, so I can drink this without an exchange of words.
I ponder on how a large quantity of used banana skins can be obtained.
Wednesday
Our daughter Molly calls round, and announces that it is her intention to become a man. Carrie says she is “cool with that.” I feel pretty cold about the notion myself. I always wanted a daughter, and she was a delightful child. She hasn’t been the same since she went in for making yurts. She seems very determined, and from the look of her chin is already on the way to masculinity. I enquire what other plans she has for this development, and she tells me, “I’m going to use that fine family name of Lupin as soon as I’ve had my bits off.”
I am very distressed by this entire thing, and go to my study where I watch some instructive videos on You Tube.
Image: SatyaPrem, Pixabay