The One about Toby and Sam

When we were weans, Mum - an absolute powerhouse - had a Geordie PA called Sandra. Also a powerhouse. She had asthma and one day our Dad went to see why she wasn’t at work. He could see the vacuum still going on the floor and she’s had a catastrophic asthma attack. Dad booted in the door and saved her life.

Sandra had two tiny Yorkshire Terriers called Toby and Sam, and an ancient parrot who had been smuggled out of I think Borneo in WWII by Sandra’s father. The parrot fell out of a tree in a jungle onto his hat, and he turned the hat upside down and carried the parrot back to Newcastle. All folded up and secret.

That fucking parrot. A real talker. He used to say, Good morning Betty, to his ‘mum’ every morning. And if you didn’t lock the front door he would shout SHUT THAT DOOR like Larry Grayson. Toby and Sam infuriated our father because no one needs aggressive Yorkshire Terriers and least of all when you are giving CPR. In the years afterwards when the dogs went yappy that parrot would shout TOBY, SAM, GET IN YOUR BEDS in a Geordie accent.