Chez Eel Man

Went to good friend and neighbour Eel Man's for lunch on Saturday. Having said he was really enjoying househusbandnot, Eel Man paused for thought - or to prepare me for his thought - and said: "But I think you need to get out a bit more".

Now this hurt. Partly because Eel Man really knows his blogs (he has been writing and reading blogs since before you and I even knew what they were). But also because I know he is right, and that me just bolloxing on about paint drying and workmen not turning up and what the neighbours are doing is not enough. I do need to get out more, and write about what is going on beyond the confines of the four or so walls of this apartment.

Grown up and open to criticism as ever, I took the thought and went and sulked in the corner of Eel Man's garden, while he turned on mrs househusbandnot and accused her of being an unreliable animal witness with her descriptions of fruit bats. (He thinks fruit bats are just small batty mousy creatures, while mrs househusbandnot and I happen to know that they are more like jack russels or foxes with wings, who swan-like could break a man's arm with a casual swipe from one of those wings.)

And (not that I'm still upset or anything) this from a man who went on to tell us that he and his wife - aka Mrs Eel - had had a long conversation that morning about the political persuasions of different biscuits, based on the initial examples of Garibaldis and Bourbons. According to these two self-appointed reliable biscuit witnesses, Hob-Nobs are the biscuits or the people while their louche cousins the Chocolate Hob-Nobs wander the disaffected ranks of the right wing, supporting hanging if it will get rid of more common people and vaguely socialising with David Cameron because they were at school together. mrs househusbandnot made a half-hearted attempt at introducing Pink Wafers into the discussion, but I could tell she was down, stunned by the unreliable animal witness jibe. (On the way home after lunch, she said: "I trained as a f*cking lawyer. I'll give him unreliable witness".)

But getting out more. Eel Man is right. I'm going to do some more of that, even if it's just to the biscuit section of Tesco's to sharpen up my political commentary. Or to the zoo to steal a fruit bat to leave in Eel Man's gym bag next time we go swimming together. (Actually, I got off pretty lightly on Saturday. As we were leaving, I could hear Eel Man correcting his mother in law's Dutch pronunciation, and asking Mrs Eel if she thought their 10 month old son - McEel? Elver? - was old enough to listen to some early Velvet Underground.) If I'm sounding anti Eel Man, don't think that. I feel deeply happy that I have friends who can be so entertaining about biscuits.