This is Grit's twisted family

Today, we are in Suffolk, with Big Bro, partner Val, and partner Val's treasured cat.


I don't talk too much about Val. Possibly for two reasons. One, she may read this blog while she strokes that cat, and two, she does not agree to our home educating ways.

I can tell. I can pick up the meaning of those eyebrow laden glances. And that laugh falls short of joyful agreement. But because we are British, or wanting to live in the same house for more than five hours without resorting to hammers, we neither of us talk too much about how well or badly home education is equipping my kids for their independent lives.

But those reasons aside, I have some loyalty to Val, because she gives Big Bro a pretty harsh time, and that is good. Without her, he probably would sink back into that blasted place some people call clinical depression and which Big Bro describes is like waking up, not knowing where you are, where you are going, but all you feel is alone in a cut away vastness where no-one can reach you. Val probably helps keep him chained up to some type of reality.

For a start - and this should tell you something about her personality and our relationship - she keeps a very orderly house. She does not like mess. No crumbs on the carpet. They may be your death warrant. And there are routines to go alongside those rules. If you don't eat that spaghetti for supper, you might see it again at breakfast.

Well, because Val is extended family, in respect I will not rip her opinions apart here. Even though I feel that today the air is bristling with an invisible comment that Shark, Tiger and Squirrel should be making their way back to school this week at 8.15am sharp. And that should include appropriate luncheon not exceeding 9gms per 100gms sugar content, which may be subject to an inspection and supervision order.

So I will merely show you what she keeps under the cat.


You see? My brother's girlfriend keeps company with a cat that is dead, flat, and labelled. And she thinks I am odd.