So, last week Rosey had some time alone as Gareth was away learning how to add up or whatever accountants do on training courses. We all met at the Bicycle Arms for a tipple or two and Rosey updated us on her new life as half of a pair. I must tell you, when our mate Rob used that particular expression she was initially a little put out, as she thought he was suggesting that she now resembled half of a pear! She launched off into how eating decent food, which she now did, has the effect of giving one’s figure a more mature and aristocratic appearance and that was nothing to be ashamed of.
She was not however alone when she joined us; she was in the company of a canine companion in the shape of a boxer dog called, believe it or not, Berkerov! At first we thought we had misheard and that Gareth was an unlikely fan of Stephen Berkerov of Octopussy and Rambo fame. But no. It seems Gareth is a great admirer of Vladimir Berkerov, a Russian financial wizkid working for the IMF. It is said that although Victor B is a rather formidable and humourless character, his bark is worse than his bite and it was that description which led the hapless hound to become his namesake. Rosey of course has the job of taking Berkerov for his daily constitutional around the park. Now Rosey simply hates this daily chore. For a start, it is nowadays considered etiquettally correct to pick up poo as one goes along rather than leave it a nature intended – the mere mention of to us caused Rosey to retch in a particularly unbecoming manner.
So, yesterday Rosey was carrying out her dog walking duties when a man passed a few feet to her left. He politely doffed his trilby hat to her, as gentlemen do, and with that Berkerov made a dash for him in order to that rather unpleasant things that dogs do when inspecting strange men. Well, Rosey yelled out ‘heel’ being the word one uses to bring a dog to one’s side - and he obeyed! (The dog that is, not the man) Unfortunately he bounded up to Rosey with a little more gusto than was necessary and as a result he tripped poor Rosey up, and she landed fairly and squarely on a little heap of steaming excrement left there by a dog walker who had not been as considerate as her. The gentleman walked over and proffered a gloved hand in order to aid Rosey in regaining the vertical! ‘Are you all right m’dear?” he asked as she wobbled to her feet. She muttered an embarrassed “thank you” and tried to regain some composure. “What’s his name m’dear?” he asked fondling the dog’s floppy ears. “Berkerov” mumbled Rosey to which he retorted “No need to take that attitude young lady. Young people today.” And with that he huffed and puffed and strutted off leaving a somewhat confused Rosey wondering what she’d said to offend him. It didn’t take us long to work out what had gone wrong. Obviously the disenchanted goodly samaritan thought he had been told to bugger off!
Our friend Sally asked how Berkerov was getting on with Butternut and Squash. She was of course referring to Rosey’s two white cats which, as regular readers know are in fact known by the names Fuzzybutt and Scruff. It seems that they have all become firm friends, although Rosey’s little beach front apartment does now feel a little crowed.
Gareth is back in a couple of days and will no doubt have hours of fun telling Rosey about the latest trending mathematical multiplicities and accountancy amortisations (and no, I don’t know what I’m talking about either!) We really aren’t happy about the way Gareth seems to have changed Rosey and just don’t get why she’s so besotted. It simply doesn’t add up (if you’ll pardon the pun!). In the meantime we’ll just wait for the real Rosey to come to her senses; it just could take a while.
To read heaps more of My Friend Rosey’s adventures click HERE