We decided Gus needed a friend, so we got another chinchilla.

Gus is six months old, which isn’t much for a chinchilla - they can live into their twenties - but he’s like a grumpy old man already. Jerry, his new friend, is half his age, and acts like the excitable kiddie he is. Nothing seems to bother him - he’s like a smaller, hairier Pollyanna.

Grumpy old Gus was unimpressed by Jerry’s enthusiasm for life. Nor did he seem too happy with the newcomer’s propensity to nip him, and warded him off with angry noises whenever he got near.

…I wrote those three paragraphs earlier in the day, and I’ve just had to edit the last one for tense, because this evening there’s been a cessation of hostilities. We’d been introducing them gradually, letting them run around together in the hallway but then putting them away in separate cages. Their first proper getting-to-know-you session yesterday was a disaster - by the end of it Gus had lost enough fur to stuff a pillow, through a combination of shedding from stress and Jerry pulling it out. Today was a bit better, not because they’d bonded but because Gus had adopted the policy of hiding and growling should Jerry come near. It didn’t bode well for their first night sharing a cage.

But we put them in the cage together and they’re fine! There’s been mutual grooming and shared sandbathing and everything. Possibly Gus is lulling us into a false sense of security so he can kill Jerry when we leave them alone together, but all evidence so far suggests he’s not that clever. I think they might actually have resolved their differences and decided to be the best of friends.

We joined a gym a month or so ago. What with muralling and Londoning and Jess-being-too-busy-revising-ing we haven’t really been getting our money’s worth, but as of this week that’s all going to change. Yesterday we went for the first of what will be super frequent regular visits.

…Which was possibly unwise, because the day before I’d given blood. Which would have been fine if I’d filled myself with a hearty breakfast on Wednesday morning, but I just had a couple of slices of toast and a glass of orange juice, which possibly isn’t enough to compensate for very nearly an armful of the sticky stuff.

Still, I was feeling fine, so I turned up at the gym and did ten minutes on the running machine. At the end of it I was feeling pretty exhausted, though no more than any fairly unfit person who’s just run quite fast for ten minutes would expect to be, but the moment I stepped off the treadmill I suddenly felt even more devoid of energy that I’d anticipated. I staggered over to the bikes - not to cycle, that would have been madness, just to sit down. I collapsed on the one next to Jess and she offered me the water bottle.

I remember thinking: “Well, yes, I would quite like a drink, but even taking the bottle from you would require more energy than I have right now, so I’ll have to decline.” And I remember thinking that I could communicate all this to her with a shake of my head, and that I probably did have enough energy to do that, but then I wouldn’t have any left with which to, say, remain conscious, so I rudely ignored her instead. And it didn’t do me any good, because I still passed out.

The next thing I remember is a vague awareness of people talking to me, and feeling quite irked by this because I was having a lovely sleep and didn’t care for such a rude interruption. When I became slightly more aware of what was happening, I realised I was on an exercise bike in the gym, and a couple of members of staff seemed anxious to get my attention.

I assured them I was fine, but they nevertheless insisted on lying me on the floor with my legs in the air until my face wasn’t quite so pale. When I was back to full health, I got to sit in a comfy chair munching an energy-restoring Milkybar while Jess resumed exercising.

So it worked out quite well really. I might try it again next time.

It’s been a busy week. On Monday we drove down to London so Jess could do a little course on Speech Therapy As A Career and I could sit in a pub and work on my novel (we mainly went for the course. I could have sat in a pub anywhere). On Monday night we went to see Blood Brothers, which was dead good, and on Tuesday night we went to see Phantom, which was even dead gooder. It turned out he wasn’t a ghost at all, just an ugly man in a mask!

Then on Wednesday afternoon we hopped on the Jubilee line and had a nosey around the Houses of Parliament. They’ve done a good job of repairing the clock, you can’t tell where that alien spaceship crashed into it a few years back.

We had a little walk along the south bank. There was a street artist chap displaying some photos he’d taken, and Jess paused to have a look. My own attention was drawn to a performer dressed as Charlie Chaplin, doing the sort of thing Charlie Chaplin did, only badly. He was balancing his hat on his cane and his cane on his shoe, trying to keep it upright, but he never lasted more than a few seconds, and when it was about to fall off he went to grab it and nearly fell over. And he balanced his water bottle on his shoe and kicked it up and tried to catch it, but missed. And if you’re imagining him doing those things in a comically inept way that actually took great skill, you’re imagining it wrong. He was just rubbish.

I remarked on his rubbishness to Jess after she’d finished looking at the other chap’s photos and we’d continued our stroll along the bank of the Thames. I possibly remarked quite loudly, and Charlie Chaplin possibly heard me insulting him, which would have been rude but had no personal consequences for me because a few seconds later we’d have walked right past and I’d never see him again. Except my remark prompted Jess to stop and find out for herself just how rubbish he was, so I had to stop too. Some woman walked past and accidentally kicked over his cup of money, scattering coins everywhere, and she had to scrabble round on the floor picking them up, which was funnier than his act. So I was having a good chuckle about that when Charlie Chaplin made eye contact and beckoned me towards him.

Oh god. He heard me insult him and now he was going to get his revenge in the form of audience participation.

He made me hold a hat while he did some juggling, and I had to catch the balls as he ‘released’ them, which was very sneaky because it meant that when he dropped them due to rubbish juggling, he could make out he’d done it on purpose and I was the one who’d been rubbish by failing to catch them. So we did that for a bit, then he let me go. I turned to leave and immediately kicked over his cup of money.

We drove back up north and went to bed. I was woken quite early the following morning by flapping, which I ignored and tried to go back to sleep. When I could still hear it a couple of hours later, I decided I’d better get up and investigate.

There was a bird in Jess’s office. I opened the window and it escaped, but the whole thing was very puzzling. We hadn’t opened any windows since we got home, so how had it got in?

The mystery was solved when we went downstairs and found a big streak of bird poo down the mirror over the fireplace - apparently he’d made his entrance via the chimney. Unfortunately the card I made for Jess on Jess Day was still on the mantelpiece, and his streak of poo continued down its interior, in which I had written and elaborately illustrated a romantic poem about goblins. It was almost exactly like someone had done a poo on the Mona Lisa.

Then we went and picked up our chinchilla. Meet Gus.

(Click for more)

Gus is a jolly little chap. We spent hours last night watching him explore his cage, but he’s not too bright and figuring out how to get from one level to the next was always a challenge, so it was a slow process. He was having a great time until he jumped on his swing and it crashed into his wheel and made a scary noise, at which point he ran into his house and didn’t come out again for ages. We’ve moved the swing away from the wheel now so it shouldn’t happen again.

His favourite things are cardboard tubes and being a chinchilla.

We’ve got an exciting week coming up.

It’s all the way down to London on Monday where Jess is doing a little course. We’re staying in a hotel bang in the middle of the stamping ground of my former life, which will be weird. Though thankfully not in the actual Travel Inn where I lived for six months.

While we’re down there we figured we’d go and see The Phantom of the Opera, seeing as how Jess has wanted to since she was ten and isn’t likely to get another chance soon, so we booked that for Tuesday. Then she discovered some bargain tickets for other west end shows on lastminute.com which seemed too good to pass up, so on Monday we’re going to Blood Brothers. I’ve never seen that one, but my mum’s been banging on about how great it is for the last decade or so, so it’s got to be worth a look.

I don’t know how I’m going to occupy myself while Jess is doing her course though. Anyone know if there’s anything to do in London?

And then we come back home and pick up our chinchilla. We still don’t know what we’re going to call him. Suggestions please.

So that’s what the future has in store. But perhaps you’re more interested in the past, and the piccies of the Ben 10 mural I promised you. Well, here they are then:

(Clicky for the full gallery)

Also, Bea Arthur’s dead.