Hours spent cuddling Stanley: .5
Hours spent buying food and chew toys for Stanley: 4
Hours spent writing: 0
My NBF, who I have not seen since her bonkers supper club in New York a couple of months ago, texted me yesterday to say they were about to be driving through my town and could they come over for breakfast.
Other people might have been horrified, but there is nothing I love more than people dropping in unexpectedly. Wait. I must rephrase. There is nothing I love more than people I love, dropping in unexpectedly. Especially NBF’s.
My NBF’s, just in case you missed that column, are Emma Freud and Richard Curtis. She is broadcaster and writer extraordinaire, and he is God. At least in my eyes. He is the man behind all of my favourite films, and most especially Four Weddings and a Funeral.
And they were coming to my house! For breakfast! I very quickly sent Twin A out for a loaf of bread, and he came back with something resembling white sliced. This only posed a challenge because white bread has not crossed the threshold of my house since 1996, and I had forgotten that you toast it for half the time. We ended up with an entire loaf of blackened toast. I pretended it was intentional.
I made scrambled eggs, sliced watermelon, and dragged out the leftover scones in the hope that I might finally get rid of them. My NBF’s arrived, with two children, and a large box, with air holes in it.
What was in the box? We were intrigued. It turned out, Stanley was in the box. Stanley is a rabbit. They were driving him up to his breeder, a chef, in Martha’s Vineyard. Stanley had been bred for the pot, and although the breeder had vowed that Stanley would be spared, none of us were convinced.
Emma stood in the big vegetable garden with Stanley in her arms. “A little rabbit would be very happy here,” she said. “Look at the garden!” I looked. I looked again at the rabbit as my own boys hopped excitedly around me. “Can we, mum? Can we? Pleeeeeaaasssee?”
And so I have found myself with Stanley Freud-Curtis-Green-Warburg as the newest member of the family. Stan, for short. He is living on the porch while we wait for the hutch, and seems to have the mistaken belief that he is a cat. Every time he comes in to the house, he chases the cats everywhere, who are a little bewildered, but fascinated.
He appears to be house-trained, although there is poo everywhere. He is very sweet, but I really didn’t expect yet another animal. You might think that we have a full house, but Twin A is not happy. He says our family will not be complete until we have a beehive.
(This article was first published in The Lady Magazine.)
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