Wednesday, April 20, 2011

You ain't heard nothin' yet!

At last the fog seems to be clearing a little bit in respect of this Oral Parole Hearing next month that I have been harping on about since (it seems to me) Adam was a boy.

We've had a communication from the judge who will be presiding over the matter, giving directions and instructions. Everyone who was desired to attend will be there (unforeseen circumstances to one side, of course) and that includes - the prison psychologist - our independent psychologist - Andrew has heen granted permission to attend (something I am very pleased about) - The Wallace, of course (but only if she isn't busy invading Scotland) - and I will be represented officially by a barrister appointed by my solicitor.

What I find interesting (and not a little bit encouraging) is the fact that the prison service will not have the assistance of a representative of the Secretary of State and, as fully expected, the Smiling Assassin will not be there. She is away on her annual leave! There's a surprise! Regular readers will be fully aware that I predicted such a thing would happen. I'm considering a career change as a tipster for Lotto numbers.

So, all of the protagonists in this saga will finally meet each other and become real people rather than just names on emails and voices on der telefunken. The only one who knows everyone else is me, which effectively makes me responsible for introductions - "Er, this is the excellent Blodwyn - say hello to The Wallace!" sort of thing. I shall look forward to that. (It annoys the hell out of The Wallace when I call her that - that's why I do it. But the interesting thing about that is, she doesn't allow that annoyance to cloud or influence her position, and that is admirable.)

So, the die is cast, so to speak, but it's not over yet. In fact, to use the words of Al Jolson, "You ain't heard nothin' yet."

I've told Boudica all about it, of course. She has to be kept in the picture because she DOES allow her annoyances to cloud her judgement, and having my nose reorganised is not the wisest move I will ever make. So I told Boudica.

Of course, she is just as likely to say, "If everybody else is coming, why can't I come?"

Well, it's not my decision to make and you didn't ask - it's too late now. However, I am sure that there will be a full report on it after it's all over - settle for that.

Her mutt, the inimitable Cassie, has got a new game. She has recently taken to lurking behind the curtains of an open window and leaping out of the window after Boudica's pigeons. She never catches any, of course - the dog is an idiot. Boudica says it is driving her mad having to go and let the mutt back in through the door. She can't stop it - she likes the window wide open.

I've given her the advice that Solomon would have been proud to give. I told her to move to the top floor of a block of high-rise flats, open the window and say, "Go on, now jump." The mutt will only do it once - problem solved.

It occurs to me that the animal lovers will now be up in arms at my less than nice solution - maybe they should try to learn the difference between a joke and a serious suggestion.

I wonder what it must be like to go through life without a sense of humour - it can't be easy. Speaking personally, I like a good laff - it's good for the soul, apparently.

Boudica has no sense of humour at all - she thinks sexist jokes about blondes are funny: 
How can you tell there is a blonde at a cock-fight? 
She's the one who brings the duck.
How can you tell when I am at the cock-fight? 
The duck wins.
The Voice In The Wilderness

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