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Sorry if I seem a little jittery, perhaps you might sense the panic in my … er…. ramblings, but there's an 'R' in our house, and I think it's driving me insane…. ?
Oh? What’s an 'R'? Let me explain, or at least try to.
You see I can't use the whole word. I don't ever say it, so I certainly won't be writing it anytime soon. Why? I'll be honest, it's because the very idea, the very thought of an 'R' terrifies me. In fact ‘terrify’ is not a strong enough word. 'R's change me into a shivering, quaking, nauseous wreck.
Does that make it clearer? No? You're still confused?? Well, it's a phobia I have. Let's see, how do you feel about snakes?…. Or perhaps spiders? Maybe creased bed linen? (now THAT you have to see a shrink about!) OK, multiply that feeling by 10 to the power of 78 zillion … and that's how I feel about 'R's. NO, not the letter 'R'! Let me try and give you a clue, (though it's difficult when I'm having heart palpitations.) I suppose if you said 'R' stood for 'rodent' that would be close but not dead on. I have no fear of rodents in general. Hey, I can do Rabbits, Raccoons, even Really Radical hamsters, but not 'R's. (by the way, if you're reading this out loud to someone you might want to apologise roundabout now - 'R's sounds a bit like a swear word I'm afraid)
Anyway I'm sure you get the idea. The 'R' I don't like, that I despise, that I will emigrate because of, is the small greasy job with an icky long tail and horrid little black eyes (no! not a rattle snake you fool!). And I just don't do them. Live ones, dead ones, big ones, small ones (definitely not ones as big as your head), white ones or grey ones, even cane ones. I just don't do them.
And we've got one. In our home. Our Castle. Our haven of safety. An 'R'.… ARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!No, really, I have to calm down. Regain my composure. Breathe… Breathe…. For arguments sake, I'll call him Richy. Why? (My, aren't you the inquisitive one today!) Because that's the name of the guy who stole my girlfriend. Can you believe it? He was my best mate when I was fifteen. And he took her from me. Without even asking, he phoned her up and….. no, that's another story. All I'm trying to say is that Richy was a real dirty 'R'.
So now we've got a Richy lurking in our home, somewhere. A nasty, cunning, sly little Richy, and I think, yep, judging by my watch by the end of the week I'll be insane.
We've tried to get rid of him. (It must be a ‘him’, because the thought of a 'her' 'R' in my home, giving birth to a whole lot of little 'r's is…….) no it's definitely a him. Yes of course. After all, Richy is a boy's name isn't it?
So we've tried to get rid of Richy. But it's not easy. Richy has special talents. Richy is really 'RICHY THE WONDER 'R'…. ' Faster than a speeding bullet, invisible to the human eye, the 'R' with a stomach of steel!'.
We don't see Richy. We only hear him, the sneaky little whiskered wally. And Richy's MOST AMAZING talent is that Richy is impervious to poison. Indeed Richy laughs in the face of poison. Richy eats poison for breakfast, and lunch, and supper.
Let me pause here to make another observation. If, by some strange chance, you wish to remain in my good books, here’s a bit of advice. You can talk about the petrol price going up, and you won't see me blink. Electricity increase? Ha! I laugh! (see me laugh. Ha ha!) Rates and taxes? No problemo either…. But please, PLEASE PLEASE don't tell me that 'R' poison has gone up in price. I just couldn't afford it. I'd have to sell everything I own…. and I would too!
Pause over. Yes, we are feeding Richy poison every night, and every morning. Sometimes we even pop home at lunchtime to feed him some. And if you’re worried about his health you needn’t be. Richy is getting a varied diet. He's had every different type of poison available on the market. And you know what? Richy loves it all! At night we hear him pitter pattering all over the house (the cunning little vermin has obviously developed an intricate tunnel system through our walls, ceilings and floor boards), gaily rushing from poison tray to poison tray, schlurping down pellets of all shapes and sizes blue ones, red ones, little ones big ones, and you know what? I think it’s making him stronger.
It's wearing Mrs Ed and me out. We aren't getting any sleep! Lying quivering in our bed listening to the pic poc pic poc pic poc PIC POC PIC POC pic poc pic poc pic poc as he runs past us in the ceiling above. Off to fetch the big green poison pellets in the cupboard under the stairs, (his aperitif!) then the pic poc pic poc pic poc PIC POC PIC POC pic poc pic poc pic poc over to the kitchen side for the blue jobs, yum yum ('with extra gravy flavour' - obviously). There he pauses for a quick ravage of the bread (effortlessly chewing through the packet of course), a nibble or two from the fruit bowl (only one bite from each piece, mind you, he doesn’t want to spoil his appetite) before pic poc pic poc pic poc PIC POC PIC POC pic poc pic poc pic poc -ing to poison pellet bowl number 3, in the lounge cupboard:- not quite so easily accessible (degree of difficulty 8.4 - there’s a small gap to squeeze through - on a full tummy too!).
Richy must be VERY fit, rushing about like that all night. He’s certainly efficient. Every morning, the poison pellets are all finished - not a crumb left. In fact some nights when he’s really hungry he eats the plastic poison plates too! Fortunately we don’t have a problem getting up in the morning to replace the poison - it’s not like we were getting any sleep in the first place.
But I must admit I’m enough of this dirty ‘R’. In fact I’ve declared out and out war:- I’m gonna get me a ‘C’! And that ‘C’ is gonna catch ol Richy one time! Why haven’t we thought of that before? Well Mrs Ed is allergic to ‘C’s so she would have to move out for a while..... Hmmm.... That would mean no Richy and No Mrs Ed... You know what? I’d be mad if I didn’t!