21 February 2018

Three

How Albert knew where our house is located, I shall never know.

Shirley had left for work at seven thirty. As usual I rolled over and promptly went back to sleep with John Humphrys and Mishal Hussein still rabbiting away on Radio 4's "Today" programme - courtesy of the radio alarm clock at our bedside.

Some time after eight, I was disturbed by a rhythmical brushing sound on our bedroom window. I thought it might be a pigeon and tried to ignore it. But that became impossible. Wearily, I donned my dressing gown and edged back the curtains. 

And yes - you have already guessed it - staring right back at me was a big green giraffe's head. Albert had come to call. He was standing on our wooden decking below but with his long neck he was able to look in through our first floor window which I promptly unlatched.

"Good morning," said Albert. "I thought I would pay you a visit."

For some reason, I was panicking in case our neighbours spotted Albert. I ran downstairs to let him in, forgetting that at fourteen feet tall with long, gangly legs, just getting inside a suburban semi-detached house might prove very challenging.

I opened our French doors and Albert ducked as low as he could go but he still managed to smash the light fitting in our dining room as he skidded on the laminate flooring.

"I'm terribly sorry. It was an accident."

There was glass everywhere. 

I ushered him into our hallway. Such a tight squeeze through the dining room doorway with me pushing from behind but finally Albert could stand up comfortably with his feet at the bottom of our stairs and his head up on the first floor landing. 

I mounted the stairs to talk to him.

"This is the first time I have been in a human house," said Albert. "You have lots of things."

I asked him if he wanted a drink and something to eat.

"Yes please Neil but I only eat leaves and I only drink water."

I went back downstairs for a bucket of tap water and some branches from the bay tree that grows outside our back door. Albert was delighted.

"Mmm...delicious. Thank you."

He wanted to see photographs of my family, asking innumerable questions and he wanted to see my Times Atlas of the World - again asking so many questions that my brain was befuddled. Albert was especially interested in Africa, keen to know the names of all the countries which he repeated after me, all fifty four of them from Algeria to Zimbabwe.

"Oh-oh!" said Albert. "Can you get that bucket? I need to do a big doo-doo!"

I ran upstairs and got back just in time to catch an enormous steamy giraffe turd which emerged from  Albert's anus like a young crocodile slipping from the banks of  the Limpopo. The smell was quite noteworthy.

"So sorry," he said. "I normally just drop my doo-doo on the ground."

"No problem Albert," I grinned. "When you've got to go, you've got to go."

I was speaking from personal experience.

16 comments:

  1. My lips are sealed; and I am sitting on my hands!

    I shall refrain! I shall refrain!!!! I must!!!!!

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    Replies
    1. Self-censorship is the most effective censorship of all.

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  2. "I normally just drop my doo doo on the ground" will one day be quoted just like "Run, Forrest, run!"

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    1. I must admit that that particular sentence is probably the pinnacle of my literary career.

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  3. What's next. I can hardly wait. How is Albert going to get out of the house. It sounds like some people who get in a scrape and have difficulty getting out of it.

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    1. I won't be dealing with that matter Red. I will just say that he got out of the house, with much difficulty, through the front door.

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  4. You really should write a book for children about Alfred! I'd leave out the part about the steamy turd dropping from his anus, though. 💩

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    1. Why? Don't kids shit any more?

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  5. I believe your lovely "storia vera". Do giraffes hibernate? I think I spotted Gianliugi in the park. I called his name but he didn't move, nor did he reply.
    Albert is not shy at all. I wonder if there is a moral to this?
    Greetings Maria x

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    1. You need a moral? Must a story have a moral? Perhaps I shall give you one. Perhaps not. Are you sure you visited the park Maria?

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    2. Oops - Alberts has long legs but "lies have short legs" - you caught me not telling the truth; I did not visit the park. (blush)
      x

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  6. How nice of Albert to call! I don't doubt it was a huge surprise to find yourself face to face with him when you opened your bedroom curtains.
    As you have hinted from the beginning that Albert is no more, I really dread reading the next chapter(s).

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    1. I wouldn't wish to make you cry Catwoman!

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  7. This very weird. For a number of hours now on my side-bar it is showing you have posted a new post titled "Four"...but nothing is showing...as yet.

    I should introduce Ellie, the Elephant to Albert, the Giraffe. She is always in the room!

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    Replies
    1. There was a Blogger hiccup. One day I may write about another animal I met - Lee the Llama.

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  8. LOL! You have gone very surreal on us, YP. :)

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Mr Pudding welcomes all genuine comments - even those with which he disagrees. However, puerile or abusive comments from anonymous contributors will continue to be given the short shrift they deserve. Any spam comments that get through Google/Blogger defences will also be quickly deleted.