OH: I’ve just looked through every page of your Grazia magazine.

Me: Mmm?

OH: I think there are two and half truly beautiful women in there.

Me: Two and a half? You mean ‘half a beautiful woman’ or ‘half beautiful’?

OH: Uh … undecided. All the rest are ..

*Long pause during which many facial contortions are observed*

… scrawny. Or not very bright looking.

Me: Interesting. I shall have to go and look through it and see if I can spot which two and a half you mean.

OH: Oh, I think you will, knowing me.

*Pause*

OH: You might not spot the half, though.

Now, me, I’d have thought spotting half a woman would have been easy.

We took the dogs over the fields this morning. It’s a nice walk, with the footpath running through four fields before reaching the road back into the village, where we can complete the circuit.

This morning, the Pirate, in his old man way, trotted away across the middle of the second field, not following the footpath, just, well, investigating. He likes investigating.

The Princess kept up with us (because Princesses don’t do the investigating thing) and so I found myself standing with her at the stile to the next field, waiting for the Pirate to decide to join us, while OH went ahead to push aside brambles and scout for danger and that kind of thing. You know how men are.

The Pirate was having a great time just messing around. He seemed to find it a lot of fun running to and fro and doing a bit of dancing on the spot. And then he did a little spin and his head went up and he looked around for us. I thought perhaps he’d just noticed that he’d been left behind. But no, it wasn’t that at all.

The Pirate came trotting purposefully back to us, and the Princess and I both noticed something at the same time. She went running off to meet him.

‘Whatcha got there, Pirate?’

‘Outta my way, Prinfeff! I’fe CAUGHT fumfing!’

‘But what is it? It makes you smell funny!’

‘Prefent for the Monkeyf!! Coming fru!’

And he pushed past her and trotted right up to me and stood there blinking contentedly in the sunlight, with something black and slimy clamped between his few remaining teeth.

The little sweetheart had brought me half a decomposing rabbit.

I think he may already have been having second thoughts about keeping his prize and bringing it home, though, because he very happily gave it up in return for a small piece of cheese.

I didn’t have to touch it or anything! Ah .. the ‘Drop it!’ command. Such a joy!

And bless him, he seemed to think he’d got a pretty good bargain too! But sometimes I think he worries about us.

After all - who in their right mind wouldn’t want a piece of decomposing rabbit?

Driving to the shops yesterday, the following conversation took place.

OH (out of the blue): ‘He’ll go suddenly, you know. One day he’ll wake up with all the wrinkles, and a pot belly’.

Me: ‘Huh?’

OH: ‘Your bloke*. He’ll go suddenly. He’ll go to bed one night, all youthful, and next morning he’ll wake up wrinkley. Bags under the eyes, you know. Pot belly. It’ll all be there.’

Me: ‘Ah. You mean someone will have found the portrait’.**

OH: ‘I’ll give him a year. OK, maybe five. Five years. Then one day … he’ll go. Wrinkles. Suddenly.’

Me: ‘And you know what?’

OH: ‘What?’

*Crickets*

OH: ‘Oh. Yeah. I know what.’

*Pause*

OH: *Sigh*

Me: *Snigger*

OH (mutters): ‘But I’ll laugh. On that day, I’ll laugh’.

* Johnny Depp. Who else?

** As in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ by Oscar Wilde

Last night I was feeling rather strange, and so I told Other Half.

‘I’m feeling a bit strange’, I said.

OH asked me in what way I felt strange.

‘I feel so hot!’ I said.

He reached over to put an arm reassuringly around my shoulders and jumped back.

‘Wow, you ARE hot!’ he said, not at all reassuringly. ‘You’re hot to the touch!!’ And he looked at me, awed.

I was not reassurred.

‘I feel as if I’m about to spontaneously combust!’ I moaned.

OH looked at me.

I looked at him.

‘Shame I won’t be able to burst into flames and leave just my shoes behind,’ I offered.

‘Why is that?’ he enquired.

‘I’m not wearing any!’

‘You’d better go and put some on at once!’ he said sternly.

I thought for a while.

‘But isn’t it supposed to rain herrings first?’

He thought for a while.

‘I don’t believe that was forecast,’ he said, ’so it looks like you’ll have to wait’.

Call me picky, but I’d hoped for a little more sympathy … and today I find this, on his blog!

You just wait, Mr Yellow Swordfish! Come the winter when your hands turn white and the Headsokz come out of hiding, I’ll remember this.

Ha!