The sad passing of the Bo Diddleys
So, it's a hot June evening in Wales and I'm sat on my arse on the patio, strumming merrily away, drinking a reasonable bottle of Sicilian Chardonnay (no, I did not know the Sicilians made a reasonable chardonnay either) while thinking about the sad loss to music re the death on Monday of the now late great Bo Diddley when my daughter, 12, begins begging for a hamster.
Now, I actually dislike the furry little f***ers and would not as a single person give cage room to one.
However, I am not single I have to deal with this.
Wifey says, "It's a family decision and we must all have input"
"OK" I respond, “My input is NO!"
"Ah", replies wifey, "What good reason do you have for saying no?"
Now, this is where I made my first mistake: I assumed that wifey was intimating that she wanted daughter to have a fabulous furry freak creature.
Shakespearean aside moment/soliloquy here: "So, wifey is asking why I do not want a Hamster in my living space and that I should give a good reason why not. OK, because I really dislike them!
But!!! That is not really a thought out logical response.
Oh, sod it!!!
Now this is where I made the really BIG second mistake:
"OK, Caitlin, you may have a hamster on three conditions:
1/ you clean up it's tiny hamster crap and keep the cage in good non smelly order.
2/ you buy said cage
and
3/ it MUST be named "The late great Bo Diddley" or Bo for short because Diddley is not an option unless prefixed by Mister.
Delirious daughter hugs and kisses devastatingly delicious dad.
Wife goes balistically bloody bonkers!!!
How in the hell was I to know that she was waiting for me to veto the whole hamster scenario AND get the blame while she was the one who did not get the blame AND still won by NOT having a bloody hamster anyway?
So here I am typing away in the office/guest room wondering why wifey is not talking to me and rhetorically answering "because you are as thick as a bloke and she is as wise as a woman"
Time passes……….
So, it's another hot June evening in Wales and I am again sat on my arse on the patio strumming merrily away and drinking a rather pleasant bottle of Cotes Du Rhone while thinking about the recent events concerning Bo Diddley and The Late Great Bo Diddley the hamster.
Said hamster having been brought home this very morning by delighted daughter.
I have been home from work for an hour or so and I notice that the Late Great Bo Diddley's cage is also on the patio in the shade of the house where my wife has placed him.
My daughter is at a friend's house, my wife and son are out with the dog and I am making the most of the splendid isolation and the absolutely incredible view of the Mynnedd Maen/ Twmbarlwm mountain range I am lucky enough to have.
The Cotes is slipping down gently, my guitar is in tune and all's well with the world.
I do have the occasional glance at the Late Great Bo Diddley's cage but as it's locked I am not that worried should he turn feral.
Eventually my wife and son arrive home and ask if the Late Great Bo Diddley has stirred.
I reply that I neither know nor care.
My daughter arrives home and demands that I look at the Late Great Bo Diddley and admire his handsome furry features.
I concede and watch her poke said sleeping cretinous creature awake with a stick of carrot.
Or not!
An almighty scream is let out by my daughter.
I rush quickly over to the cage thinking that my daughter has been bitten by the furry little f**k and am ready to administer hugs and first aid.
However, the Late Great Bo Diddley is on his back with his legs in the air and very very very stiff!
It appears that the Late Great Bo Diddley has joined the other Late Great Bo Diddley by becoming the Late Late Great Bo Diddley and has begun running around the great big hamster wheel in the sky!
It would seem that the poor little bast**d died of heat exposure on the patio despite being placed in the shade and having Syria as his ethnic background!
My Cotes is now on emotional hold as my daughter slowly calms down and (ever the pragmatist) organises a hamster funeral.
I go into the house;
I put the late great Bo Diddley on the CD player very loudly as Caitlin places The Late Late Great Bo Diddley in the box her cell phone came in.
I dig a hole in the garden and my son carries a very gravestone shaped piece of white pumice stone we picked up from a beach upon which he and Caitlin have written in jet black sharpie:
The Late Great Bo Diddley,
three months old
killed by Mummy
RIP
Now when my wife sees this she begins to feel absolutely shitty and starts crying.
My daughter places the Late Late Great Bo Diddley (in his mobile phone box coffin) into the hole.
Drifting through the window is Bo Diddley singing "500% more man", my son places the gravestone in situ and I miraculously manage not to laugh, giggle, titter, snicker, guffaw or chortle throughout any of this.
In fact, keeping my funereal expression rigid I ask if anyone would like to say a few words in honour of the Late Late Great Bo Diddley.
My daughter says:
"Daddy agreed to have Mr. Diddley on Friday and we collected him on Sunday.
Six hours later he was dead. Thank you Mummy for murdering him!"
You simply could NOT make this up!!!!!
PS: On what may be a fiscally selfish note, we forked out almost £50 in hamster cage, ball, wheel, straw and food for that little furry bast**d!!!!!
6 bloody hours!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Later still:
My daughter has acquired another hamster and named him
Mr. Chips
I shall let you know when I say goodbye to him!!!