Prudence McCoy My Diary.  Again

Wednesday

Nigel – my sweet, brilliant and completely maddening assistant – spent the day in the ‘lab’ working on a new series of PruPointers with me.   Nigel’s grandfather – also named Nigel and fondly known around here as The First (our Nigel is The Third) -- ran my mother’s lab, devising and testing PruPointers.  

Nigel does the same for me.   He’s clumsy, geeky and bit cheeky as well, but he’s so bloody clever I don’t know what I’d do without him.   I mean, he sees things differently, doesn’t he?  I’d say he thinks ‘outside the box’, but I’m not sure the poor boy even knows there is a box to think outside of.   Which is good, I suppose, when he’s thinking up new PruPointers.  He lets his mind wander and it goes some very unusual places

But, God forbid if I ask him to do anything else.  It’s always a disaster.  Like the time I sent him to pick up some  Chinese take-out for the staff.  An hour later, I got a call from the local police station.  There was apparently some sort of dust-up with a group of Hari Krishna dancers in Times Square and Nigel had been arrested.   Don’t ask why.  It was just too bizarre.  Or, maybe I should say, it was just too Nigel.   

Nigel’s name has become part of the vernacular around the offices.  We use it as a noun (‘you’re such a Nigel), a verb (‘don’t Nigel, me, mate’ or ‘You’ve completely Nigeled that, haven’t you?’), an adjective (‘That’s a totally Nigel question’ or ‘Don’t be so Nigel, you twit’) and so on.  He’s an inspiration to all of us.

At any rate, the letters and emails pour into our office from around the world.  People everywhere write in, with problems, questions and solutions of their own (some of our best PruPointers come from our viewers and fans, so keep sending them along!!)

It’s fascinating to me.  As advanced as our civilization has become, with computers and high tech gadgets of every imaginable sort, people still want to know so many basic things, things that matter in their lives -- like how to darn a sock, get a spot of wine off the chesterfield , keep a button from popping off a blouse or how to clean their cat. 

Yes, exactly:  how to clean a bloody cat.  Which is exactly what Nathan from Nantuckett asked about recently.  I thought cats did that themselves, with all their licking and so on.    Apparently not Nathan’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, who doesn’t seem to give a whit about personal hygiene and is starting to smell like last week’s leftovers.  He was an excellent mouser, according to Nathan, but now the rodents can smell him coming.  Mr. Whiskers self-esteem is plummeting, he’s laying about the house looking morose and Nathan’s at his wit’s end.  

I told Nigel figuring out the best way to clean a cat is a top priority.  We’re going to feature it on this week’s ‘PruPointers’ show, so all of you out there who are dying to know how to scrub up the cat must tune in. 

Have to run, loves.  I’ve got a column to finish, work to do on the next ‘PruPointers’ book of  helpful hints and a guest appearance on ‘The View’ to prepare for.   Sleep’s becoming a real luxury in my life.  As is just about everything else.  No, I’m not going to elaborate on exactly what ‘everything else’ includes, even in my diary, but trust me, I could stand a bit more of what I’m missing.  Love to all, Prudence.
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Wednesday Later

Another first in my life:  After lunch, I sat down at my desk to do a bit of work on the computer before returning to the lab.   Felt a bit drowsy.  Thought I’d close my eyes, just for a second, to chase the cobwebs (Mother was fond of taking ten minute ‘cat naps’, even though she despised cats).  Two hours later, I woke up to find myself sprawled across my keyboard.  My face looked like a bloody waffle iron where the keys had pressed into it.  A nap?  Me?  I don’t do cat naps, even though I love cats.  Bizarre.  I’ve got to drink more tea. 

Thursday......