Half a laugh

Max has decided to start halving dishwasher tablets. To help the environment, naturally, not the household budget. I must say I was left speechless for once, when he announced this new measure of near-austerity living but the result was just as good as when one used the whole tablet. How can I argue with that?

Although it filled me with dread, because what's next?

The amount of toilet paper he uses is suspiciously economical already - I suspect he takes half a sheet at a time, then folds it in half, and halves again. He's not started monitoring my "usage" as yet but who knows? I suppose there's always yesterday's papers. Or cabbage leaves...

Half a condom? That would be a laugh...

How about I suggest half a bottle of wine tonight? I normally manage only a glass before he glugs the rest. I'm gonna try that one, just for a laugh...

Kitty, kitty, where are you, kitty, kitty...

According to the BBC one needs £15,000 to keep a cat alive over the course of its lifetime. You know, food, vet's bills, the cattery. We've got three moggies... Max has done a quick calculation... Oh, dear...

Fortunately most days he prefers cats to people so I'm not too worried, but there are savings to be made. Let me see...

We're ok on the cattery front - so far, we haven't had to use one. When we're not there to pander to their every whim, Grandad comes in twice a day to scoop the poop, top up the food, and lock them in for the night. Otherwise, they pretty much look after themselves. Well, two of them do. The youngest refuses to use the catflap and, the stubborn little thing he is, just sits by the back door until someone lets him in or out. Max reckons the kitten is stupid and will never learn. We do try to teach him, pushing him through the flap back and forth, but to no avail: the little bugger doesn't want to know. So, next time we're on hols, this one will probably have to end up in a cattery.

Not sure we can do anything about vet's bills. What's worse, we visit the vet's virtually once a week because all the moggies have something wrong with them: skin condition, gum disease, permanent case of the grumps. Never anything too serious but it does add up. I reckon maybe a small car by now? Max says he might try to ask for a three-in-one discount if we take all three of them together next time.

Foodwise - that's a difficult one. The moggies are fussy eaters and we never know what they'll fancy for dinner. Once I opened three different tins before they deigned to eat the contents (of the third one, that is, the first two were unanimously rejected with annoyed flicks of their tails). The contents happened to be cod in gravy so I sent Max out to stock up. The following day, very pleased with myself, I put the cod on the menu again. The leader of the pack had a quick sniff, no more, and puked all over the offering. All three requested duck that day...

Hang on, yes, at least we don't have to buy them booze and drugs! Catnip does the job most days...

The everyday beauty of being owned by a cat... HMCCAP3ZZEMV

4D man

It appears a new type of man is emerging in 2010, a 4D or a 4 dimensional man. Someone has spent a lot of time and money on that one and concluded:

• he's not as tribal as his predecessors, the metrosexual and the lad (when you were either in with the gang or against it, no middle ground, thank you very much)
• he's increasingly interested in culture (since when watching endless episodes of The Wire makes them cultured?) and is more health conscious (a starve day anyone?)
  
• he's confident, individual and has varied interests and passions (or, rather, inability to finish what they've started...)
  
• he engages with multi digital platforms (whatever this means)
• he's likely to be 15-40 years old (how convenient: the likely reader of men's mags..)

That someone (who did the research, I mean) is a publisher of many a glossy men's mag. Now they want to cater to the needs of that new man and say their titles will be "pivotal in helping the men become more 4D." The advertisers are onto them, too: they want to "reach and interact" with the new man.

So, more pressure to become something you're not and more pressure to spend your pennies on this and that (including the mags, of course!). Thank God Max refuses to be a sheep and doesn't follow the crowds! Might have something to do with his innate dislike of spending money but I'm glad for once...

I haven't quite worked out the 4D thing as yet... Could be a bit of a problem... They were so much easier to control living in 2D: just food and sex...

A birthday cop-out?

I hate the thought of it but there's no escaping. My landmark birthday is approaching - next week I'll be 20... again... (there's a big heap of sand in my back garden - my head has been stuck in there for quite some time now).

I suppose I could console myself a little bit thinking about prezzies... So, what do I want for my birthday? This girl has many expensive shoes and handbags from days gone by, when I had money to throw away... The three wardrobes are chock-a-block with clothes I've got nowhere to wear to as I work from home and hardly venture outside (sob, sob...). I have seen the world, can't be bothered with jewellery, and gadgets scare me.

All this girl can think of for her birthday is some expensive pampering. There's only one problem: Max and his reluctance to put his hand in his pocket. My money (oops, I forgot, I haven't got any) is therefore on one of the following:

1) a voucher for the new salon round the corner (new, therefore 20% off)
2) a Champneys gift set (from Sainsbury's, no less)
3) an "I owe you" note.

Now, that last one, albeit a cop-out and hardly imaginative, is not as bad as it sounds (and I could stretch it way beyond the cost of the first two, I'm sure I could...).

My crowns need replacing (I did say it was a landmark birthday, didn't I?). Would this count as "pampering"?

Starve day

Max has decided last Monday of every month will be his starve day (some call it detox)... To cleanse the bowels and the mind... And his wallet perhaps? Nah, surely that would be too extreme, even for Max?

Apparently one thinks much more clearly on an empty stomach. So, no food whatsoever, just water and tea with very little fully skimmed milk. Or that herbal stuff he always buys that looks and tastes like something swept off the factory floor...

The start was very promising from what I could hear - the bowels cleansing movement could wake the dead. Max was very proud of the results that far and felt "strangely light" (no surprise there, we went for a curry on Sunday night). By lunchtime his good spirits were definitely waning and I saw murder in his eyes when he looked at me enjoying my goats cheese salad. Like, really enjoying it... Well, I could have stayed out of his way rather than lead him to temptation. But I just couldn't help myself, silly man...

The afternoon was a bit strained so I did stay out of his way. I could hear him banging away at the keyboard upstairs, muttering to himself, ever so slightly unhinged by the self inflicted trauma. He never managed to finish whatever he was doing, too frequently interrupted by yet another visit to the toilet. What was that about thinking more clearly on an empty stomach?

I was banned from eating my dinner anywhere near him and the cats had to eat their supper outside. Poor Max, even the sight of tinned cat food was too much to bear...

By the end of the day he was even less lucid, his mutterings getting more disturbing, his stomach no longer growling. "I feel fuzzy," he said and went to bed at 8.30.

I just need to put it on record that he went through a week's supply of toilet paper... Which I kindly pointed out first thing this morning.

Off to see the wizard...

I sent Max food shopping today, alone. Now, I don't normally do this. Even with a carefully scripted shopping list, he ignores the directives and comes back with offers (at best) or stuff dangerously close to their sell-by date (at worst). The wrong side of their sell-by date, I hasten to add. Also, what he would call non-essential stuff is often sold out. Or so he claims.

But I was busy today, trying to earn a few pennies, so off he went, all on his lonesome.

Two hours later he was back, looking somewhat sheepish. And guilty as hell. Apparently, they had sold out of my favourite cherry beer. And that goats cheese I like was discontinued. And I can make my own ear buds with some cocktail sticks and the cotton wool that has been lingering in the bathroom cupboard since time immemorial.

But, oh triumph!, he got us a pack of four white giant burger baps, at half the price of the brown bread I would usually get.

We don't do burgers. We don't do white bread (we are quite health conscious... or snobs... call it what you want). Baps - these we don't do at all.

Now he's dug out my mother's old mincer so I can whiz up homemade burgers with the old hunk of beef he also bought (yes, it was on offer and cheaper than the ready made mince...).

Off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Mince. I hear he is a whiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was... This witch will lose her fingers tonight...

Or, shall I tell him to take a whiz?

He only lasts 3 minutes...

Max balances himself carefully, legs astride, his knuckles white with the effort of grasping the edge of the bathtub... His breathing gets faster and faster, beads of sweat start forming on his forehead and his whole body trembles uncontrollably... And then... Wham bam thank you mam! He collapses in a heap at the bottom of the tub... He doesn't usually last longer than the proverbial 3 minutes...

Since we are getting poorer by the day, I'm not allowed to have a soak (neither does Max, obviously...) 'cause it takes too much hot water and, excuse the pun, it's money down the drain... Yadi, yadi, ya... Our bathtub is now Max's oversized bidet, hence the uncomfortable and bizarre balancing act... Bizarre, albeit strangely compelling to watch...

I wouldn't be caught dead with my bum hanging over the bath. Anyway, off to have a shower. A three minute one, mind you...