Omar's Diary for the Weekend of October 28th & 29th 2017

I was aware of some kafuffle at the front door of Omar Towers just before seven on Friday evening.

Being very reserved, some would say ‘snobby’, I withheld my curiosity about what was going on downstairs and stayed upstairs in my own room that I do let the servants share with me. Eventually I ventured downstairs and could hear some heavy breathing interspersed with comments from my own servants along the lines of ‘God that is hard’, ‘No, that hurts too much…..I’m going to have to stop there’. I hesitated at the door into the sitting room where these sounds and comments were emanating from rapidly forming images in my mind. Curiosity won the battle with procrastination and I boldly walked in. My servants were being visited by a personal trainer servant who was putting them through their, if I may say so, very limited paces.

When the session finished they said goodbye to the physical trainer servant full of smiles and energy. As soon as he had left they both collapsed on to the sofa with glasses of milk and big bars of chocolate.

On Saturday morning both of my servants, especially Lady Servant, complained of being stiff and sore from the night before. They got ready to go and see the equines. They went out to the family saloon. Two minutes later they were back in Omar Towers. Even before they had both got over the threshold Lady Servant was berating Man Servant. ‘Have you checked the oil and the water?’. ‘Why did you buy a car from that man again? The last one was a wreck’. ‘How are we going to get to the farm now?’. Man Servant was not having a good start to his Saturday. He knew that the problem was caused by a flat battery which is nothing to do with the oil and the water but he had the good sense not to respond to this effect to Lady Servant.

One phone call, a lift from a very kind neighbour and twenty minutes later Man Servant returned with another bright red car. They both got their day back on track.

When they returned home from the equines on Saturday afternoon they both looked very tired. Having been largely ignored during the day I decided to vent my petulance vocally. I was not really annoyed with them. I just felt like having a bit of sport.

After one of my vocal outbursts Lady Servant dropped everything she was doing and served me a sachet of my favourite food hoping that it was what I demanding. I wasn’t really hungry so I sniffed the plate of food, huffed and followed her back downstairs where I vocalised again.

‘Oh Omar, what is it?’ Lady Servant asked ‘I know, would you like some Dreamies?’.

No I didn’t but I let Lady Servant walk all the way upstairs to where the Dreamies are kept and returned to the kitchen. This was especially fun to do as the combination of physical training on Friday and doing whatever she does with the equines all day on Saturday had created some discomfort in her back and legs. I added more pressure to her restricted progress by calling out increasingly loudly. Lady Servant put some Dreamies down for me. I sniffed them, looked up at her and walked away just as I had done a few minutes earlier with the plate of food.

That was my Saturday night entertainment and jolly good fun it was too.

On Sunday morning Lady Servant could hardly walk but I did not have the heart to make her run up and down stairs.

Man Servant was able to fix the car by fitting a new battery with the help of another very kind neighbour. The car not starting was nothing to do with the oil and the water and I was very glad that he did not correct Lady Servant’s contrary assumptions as that would have made for a very stressed afternoon.

Man Servant and I had time to glance through one of the Sunday papers, a broadsheet in fact. He found the sports pages and checked to make sure his team, Arsenal, really had won yesterday. On one of the pages was a picture of a feline named ‘Josh’. He is a Selkirk Rex Longhair. Definitely not from an aristocratic line but despite the apparent lack of class he won the Supreme Pedigree at some show held in Birmingham. There is nothing in his picture to indicate that he is enjoying himself at all. At least he appeared in a broadsheet and not a tabloid for his ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ that Andy Warhol suggested we are all entitled to; felines and servants alike.

A small article that Man Servant read out to Lady Servant was about the poitevin equines in France. This breed nearly became extinct but with thanks to some local authorities in the country the breed is making a comeback. There is a programme to breed them specifically to pull the rubbish carts in some parts of France. How degrading for them but I guess that if it keeps the breed going then it must be good thing. However, I can just imagine seven or eight generations on from this era and poitevin equine mothers will be asked by their offspring where they originate from. The answer will be quite precise for a few generations back and then suddenly the mother will explain that family history from an earlier time is something that it is best not talked about as there are secrets. For goodness sake, your forebears pulled rubbish carts. It is what they had to do to keep the family line going. It really doesn’t matter.

‘The family is one of nature’s masterpieces’ George Santayana.

Omar's favourite treat, any time, any place... you know the rest.