A Touch Of Summer Spring Cleaning

I have just rendered my bathroom unusable (and no, I KNOW what you're thinking - NOT like that!).

I've sprayed such a concoction of chemicals on the various bits of porcelain that I've had to fling the windows open and retreat until the combination of noxious gasses subsides.

Now of course I have to go back in there and actually clean the damned things ...

I am NOT a domestic goddess, I may have mentioned that once or twice before - I once even wrote a poem about it and, if you were unlucky enough to miss it then here it is again:

The Ten Minute Tidy

Now I have theory
and I think its pretty sound
so listen up here deary
you may find it quite profound

I'm no domestic diva
my life is somewhat manic
but I don't get in a fever
and I do try not to panic

I really like surprises
and impromptu visits out
if one of those arises
you'll rarely see me pout

but if you knock upon my door
without a little warning
(Id like an hour and sometimes four
or preferably the previous morning!)

I may not want to let you in
(although I probably will)
I doubt I will have emptied the bin
which I ALWAYS overfill

there may be dishes the sink
the bath might need a clean
I may look like the missing link
my kitchen may not gleam

The hallway might just be a mess
I might just close some doors
but let's be honest, now please confess
Is there a reason we aren't at yours???

Anyway, that pretty much sums me up.  My house is NOT showroom perfect EVER and, although I'm not a complete domestic slut and certain things, the loo, the hob and, for some reason, the kettle are regularly cleaned I'm a once a week duster and a couple of days a week I heave the vacuum around the house (usually less often around the bedrooms ...).

BUT, for the last few days I've been a woman possessed.  I've cleared shelves and washed them down, dusted photo frames, cleaned the glass on pictures and emptied the drawers in my bedside tables.

I've detangled necklaces, paired up earrings, cleaned bracelets and set aside a pile of never worn jewellery for car booting.

Maybe it's this recent health scare that's set me off.

I mean, how embarrassing should I drop dead and someone else had to sort through the detritus of my life.  The thousands of old receipt's, The used tissues. The fluffy solitary Trebor mint that's rolled under the bed ...

Obviously I'm not planning on dropping dead and no one has suggested I might but until they actually work out what's going on it is at least keeping me busy with the added bonus that when I get given the all clear I will  be able to enjoy my good health in a relatively clean and tidy home.

The Curates Egg

I'm not sure where I first heard the expression Curates Egg but it derives from a cartoon published in Punch magazine in 1895.

The cartoon was drawn by George du Maurier and depicts a timid curate eating breakfast in his bishops house.

The bishop says 'I'm afraid you've got a bad egg Mr Jones'.  The curate, anxious not to offend replies, 'Oh no, my Lord, I assure you parts of it are excellent!'

Since then the term has been used to describe something that whilst essentially bad (and there can be no part of a bad egg that is good) has elements that redeem it.

Well, my week has been pretty much like that really.

I mean, I thought I'd hit an all time low when I'd prepared to sieve the bath for kitten shit but I'm not sure that even comes close to handing over a 5 gallon container of your own urine to the young son of one of your friends but that's what I found myself doing this morning.

I do hasten to add that the container was not FULL (because somehow that makes it all ok right ....? - it WAS only 24 hours worth and I was slightly surprise at how little it looked in that container whilst also wondering if other people actually managed to fill the thing ... ).

Of course it's possibly not as bad as snogging the face off a young and very  gorgeous doctor as he gazes deep into your eyes but it's pretty much up there with 'things I wasn't planning on doing in the past week'.

To be fair, I didn't ACTUALLY snog him but it was touch and go for a moment.

In my defence I was under a certain amount of stress at the time and he was (as I might have mentioned) gorgeous ... Seriously, even his name, Thomas Judd, was sexy ...

I'm still cringing at the thought of his reaction has I succumbed to temptation and locked lips with him.  I suspect it would have been on par with when Maddona snogged Drake Whathisface at the MTV awards:

rather unimpressed ...

Anyway, thank god my dignity is still intact, you all know how much I value THAT ...

As well as my dignity (in case you were wondering what this is all about) I was suffering from a hypertension crisis and my blood pressure had shot up to 244 over 104 which was a bit of a worry particularly as it kept causing the blood pressure monitors to malfunction because it was off the scale.

So, with no obvious causes, diet, weight and fitness levels all having been assessed as perfectly ok and no history of high blood pressure (in fact, rather the reverse) the urine collection is to test for some kind of rare adrenal tumour which can flood the body with adrenalin and cause these symptoms.  Oddly enough, as it IS so rare, I was tested for exactly the same thing about 6 years ago ...

I was very grateful to the consultant for warning me that under no circumstances must I dip my penis into the container as it contained an acid solution and said that I would do my utmost to resist the temptation.  I also assured him that I would ensure that no one else dipped THEIR penis into it either (although SD informs me that there are websites devoted to such practises ...  how does he know THAT ...)

And so to the good part of the egg - well, at least the one thing in all of this that makes me chuckle.

I have a follow up appointment on Friday to assess my progress and hopefully to get some answers and the doctor they have booked me in to see is called Dr Mort ...

I shit you not! They've only gone and booked me in with DOCTOR DEATH!!!

It could only happen to me couldn't it ...

Only Superstition (or IS it??)

 I've just read two blog posts.  One was by Val at Unbagging the Cats and one was by Joe at Cranky Old Man.

Val's post was inspired by Joe's and both had a common theme:

Recurring numbers!

It reminded me of a post I wrote way back in January 2012 so I had a search through the blog to find it.

It's not actually much of a blog post to be honest but I thought I'd publish it anyway.

If you're wondering what the hell I'm doing up at 4:15am - well, that's ANOTHER story that I may write at some point - suffice to say, it's been a hell of a week ...

Only Superstition

Ok, so there's something that's been bugging me for a while.

I'm not a particularly superstitious person BUT!!!

The number 13 keeps coming up over and over with a certain person (no, it's not Matt the Op).

I don't just mean once in a while but several times a week in various forms.

The first time I noticed it I didn't really give it much thought but since then it just seems to jump out at me.

Coincidence?

Possibly ...

Intriguing?

Certainly ...

A load of  old b*llocks??

Probably ...

What do you think?

Say What You See

Have you ever seen that TV series Catchphrase with Roy Walker?

If not, take a look at this before you read any further:

So anyway, last Sunday after a lovely walk with Gus over the fields at the farm I settled myself on a bench in the garden at the farm with a cup of coffee and a cream cake.

The bees were buzzing, the butterflies were flitting from flower to flower, there was a gently hum as a tractor gathered hay in a distant field.

I sat, eyes half closed against the glare of the sun, feeling at peace with the world when suddenly ...

OMFG!!!

Out of nowhere my eyes suddenly focused on the washing line and, swinging in the breeze were THESE!!!

As Roy Walker would say

Say what you see - SAY what you SEE!!!

It's NOT just me that see's it is it ....?

Suddenly I have a new found respect for SD's Dad ...

Moving on ...

SD has finished school for the Summer which means that he's around a lot more - ummm ...  YAY ...

Actually, mostly that IS a good thing although he's spending far too much time chasing me up on those damned lists he writes for me!  So much so that I actually had to uninvite him to dinner last Friday on account of him being a complete pain in the arse!

Anyway, I'm over that now and, having missed out on garlic and rosemary lamb followed by sticky toffee pudding with caramel fudge sauce SD is suitable remorseful and slightly less arse like so things are much happier around here.

Yesterday SD spent the day working on the beach buggy getting it ready for Swanage Regatta next weekend.  Swanage is one of my favourite weekends of the year.  The beach buggies lead the parade in front of about 10,000 people and this year I'll be wearing that far too short, hand picked by SD Xena Warrior Princess outfit (pictures of all the fun soon I expect).

Anyway, having spent the afternoon flat on his back doing something with an oil filter SD rang to ask me to run him a bath as he was filthy and aching all over.

I left the bath running as I cooked tea and suddenly heard a splash, followed by some screeching and a crashing noise.

Running into the bathroom I found a bedraggled and very frightened squitten (squitten = kitten of Squishy).

The poor little thing had dived head first from the laundry basket into the half filled bath.

I grabbed the squitten and hugged it close to me and ran upstairs with it to find an old towel to dry it off.

Sitting on the bed I gently rubbed it and stroked it until it was dry and had stopped shaking.

Taking the kitten back downstairs I put it with it's mum where it cuddled up quite happily.

As I stood up Miss Mac pointed to me and said:

'What's THAT!!'

I looked down to see that in it's terror the bloody squitten had crapped extensively all down the front of my top!

I was covered from chest to crotch in foul smelling liquid kitten shit!

Then it occurred to me that if it had crapped all over me then the chances were that the kitten had also shit in SD's bath ...

SD isn't a big kitten fan and I'm always telling him that they aren't much trouble (and then hiding all the stuff that they break or destroy from him ...) and he was due back at any moment and expecting to get into a steaming hot bath.

I did what I had to do ... I grabbed the sieve from the overhead rack in the kitchen and went into the bathroom only to find ...

FUUUUCK!!!!

SD was already sitting, eyes closed, in the bath full of gently steaming Radox bubbles!!!!

I hadn't heard him come in whilst I was upstairs.

He opened his eyes to find me standing in front of him in a soaking wet, shit covered t-shirt brandishing a bright green plastic sieve ...

He contemplated me for a moment.

'I don't even WANT to know' he said before slowly sliding under the water.

So ...  I didn't tell him ...

Poetry (aka - a true story ...)

I thought it was about time I brought you some more poetry Fudge style and then I thought I'd combine it with 'those damned things'.

Today started out well but then ... Well, see for yourself ...

I decided to make an effort today
'Cause I was off to town
I washed my hair, put on some slap
And dug out a fetching gown

Now I know there are some who might consider
My dresses rather short!
They might be right 'cause I can't bend over
Without giving it a great deal of though

I looked pretty good (I like to think)
And I don't think there was much doubt
Until I saw that tell tale seam
My fecking dress was INSIDE OUT!!!

I shot into the nearest shop
To find a changing room
Unfortunately I'd chosen White Stuff
The harbinger of DOOM!

I grabbed the first thing in my size
A shapeless milkmaid smock
It was brown in colour with olive green owls
I looked a proper cock!

The place was full of teacher types
All wearing A line dresses
With matching bags and sunglasses too
And neatly tied back tresses

I didn't fit the demograph
I felt I was slightly apart
Like they were dressed for a vicarage tea
And I was the only tart

The moral of this story is
Well actually, I'm not sure ...
Maybe take a look in the mirror next time
Before I walk out of the door ...

You Don't Have To Be Mad To Live Here

 But it DOES help if you are ...

I'm a lucky bitch - you don't have to say it - I'll say it myself ...

I get to do lots of cool stuff - trips to the beach, festivals, riding around in a beach buggy, climbing trees, walking coastal paths, seeing bands live ...

SEEING BANDS LIVE!!!

In the last few years I've seen The Kaiser Chiefs, Heaven 17, Pop Will Eat Itself, The Stranglers,ummm, and others ...

But on Friday night, I went to see Madness ...

MADNESS PEOPLE!!!

I WENT TO SEE MADNESS!!!!

I was a little bit excited - look:

HOW excited do I look ...

 Ok, so that might actually be my, 'what am I doing at a racecourse clutching a cup of fairly crap coffee with a lot of people wearing Fez's face ... (honestly - there were LOADS of other people there but they seem to be just out of shot ...)

Hang on, I'll try again:

Is THIS better??

Hmmm, maybe not - that's my, 'When is Madness going to start' face ...

But then, after a pint of Gladness (cool name - great beer) things started to liven up a little.

And then a little more:

And then all hell broke loose:

And OMG - what a FANTASTIC night!!!

they erupted onto that stage and took over the world for a couple of hours.

I can honestly say that nothing compare to Madness live and, like I said, I've seen a few bands recently.

The whole place rocked - great venue - great entertainment - such a great, great band ...

If you aren't a lucky bitch like me then let me leave you with this.

One that I kind of overlooked in the 80's but it grows on me more and more every time I listen to it.

Next gig PiL - stay tuned ;-)

Memories

Memories are funny things.

So many of my childhood memories are just snapshots.  A picture in my head, a scent, a fleeting sensation of a touch.  Sometimes just the memory of a moment that stops me in my tracks before it disperses like mist in the morning sun.

Time has no real meaning in these memories.

Like a wall that has been decorated many times over the years they reveal themselves in layer upon layer of faded paint that has been chipped over times reaching back to forgotten days.

I could have been three or seven or nine ...

I remember sitting on a low stool in front of an open fire.  Draped across the fireguard was a pair of white lacy tights steaming gently as they dried in the heat from the flames.  My Grandmother stroking my hair gently and telling me to watch them carefully so they didn't singe.

The tights were for me to wear to a party that afternoon.

I don't remember the party at all.  I don't remember pulling the tights on or putting on a party dress.

I do remember the touch of her hand on my hair and the feeling of proud responsibility that she should trust me to watch the tights as they dried.

I remember holding Grandads hand in the garden as he pointed out the sharp thorns on the gooseberry bushes that edges his vegetable garden and I remember him telling me to take care not to scratch myself as he let me pick the very first of the plump yellow berries so different from their smaller green sour cousins that had to be cooked before you could eat them.

I remember popping the large berry into my mouth.  The feel of the tight skin covered in soft downy hairs that burst in my mouth like sunshine as I bit through it.

I remember the dusty darkness of the garage only lit only by a shaft of light from the open door and the slightly musty earthy smell of the sacks of potatoes still covered in mud from the garden, the sweet scent of onions hanging from hooks in the rafters plaited together to form long ropes from which you could break one  with a sharp twist of your wrist.

I remember how the smell of mint filled the air as the green carpet that spread under the red currents was crushed underfoot as we plucked the tiny red berries from the bushes and how the soft fronds of lavender brushed against my arm as I passed by sending a cloud of bees buzzing into the air briefly before they settled again in the purple haze.

I remember the heat from the oven as my Grandmother baked and the yeasty smell of fresh bread wafting through the open door making my mouth water.

I remember the smell of Pears soap, the feel of the smooth oval tablet the colour of topaz, so big in my small hands.

I remember the huge storage heater filled with bricks that heated up over many hours and stayed so hot you could barely touch them. I remember my Grandmother taking the butter dish out of the fridge and placing on the top of the heater with strict instructions to watch it carefully as it softened and to not allow it to melt.  I remember putting cushions on top of the heater to warm on cold mornings and hugging them tightly to me.

I remember the bright blue cornflowers that my Grandmother loved whilst deploring the untidy way that they grew.

I remember the Rhododendron hedge that surrounded the back garden a riot of red flowers with drooping purple centres and the sweet smelling Daphne that filled the air by the kitchen window with a wondrous smell.

I remember the chuckle of the chickens as they scratched the ground looking for worms and the smooth feel of warm, freshly laid eggs in the palm of my hand.

I remember the fascination I had for the the huge water butt that caught the rain from the down pipe over the outhouse.  A whole world lived in that water butt. Pond skaters lying on their backs busily rowing from side to side, water fleas hoping around on the top of the water as though it were dry land, newts that had found their way there somehow from a nearby pond.  I could watch them for hours ...

A huge washing line ran along the path at the far end of the garden.  It must have been 20ft long.  The post for the line were telegraph pole cut to maybe 15ft lengths and there were two lines strung between them.  One was low enough to hang washing from standing on the path and the other was lowered on a pulley system so the sheets soared high above the rows of cabbages and lines of runner beans growing up poles fashioned into wigwams.  There they dried as they flapped with a sound like ships sails in the breeze.

All of these memories and many more were gathered over time, maybe many years, I really don't know but they all come together as the story of childhood innocence and happy times.