Ro went to bed. Fifteen minutes later he returned. “Has Tilly been upstairs today?” “I was out all day, no idea. Why?” “There’s a big poo in the middle of Alex’s old room carpet.” “Well, I didn’t do it.” “I know it was none of us,” (with dignity) “that is why I asked about Tilly.”
The design of Tudor houses is for the rooms to lead one into the next, rather than via corridors. There have been alterations in this house and a landing was put in, but Ro still gets from the bathroom to his room through a spare bedroom, formerly his brother’s.
Tilly is a well-behaved, clean little dog and must have been desperate. She doesn’t often go upstairs and, if she does, it’s usually to have a Saturday morning bedtime cuddle. I suggested that the spare bedroom, being hardly ever visited, did not seem part of her indoor territory and, therefore, not a ‘taboo’ place to use.
“I couldn’t believe it, when I went through after my bath” bemoaned Ro. “I just stood there looking at it, thinking ‘this can’t be right’ “. I fell about, laughing. “Can it be picked up?” “I don’t know,” he said, “I haven’t tried.” I snorted with laughter. “Where should I put it?” “Down the loo?” I suggested.
When I went upstairs, there was no sign of anything amiss in the spare bedroom. But “this can’t be right” still cracks me up.