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Uh Oh! A Man Without The Use Of His Right Hand?

Hi All

Sometimes I’m wrong. No, really, I am. Here we are galloping towards the end of another year and in my tiny mind I’d decided that all that remained of note, in the remainder of this year, was to pick up a few stocking fillers for the  griddies (grandchildren), ice the bloody Christmas cake that I still haven’t got round to icing, tart up the lounge with a bit of berried variegated holly from the garden and attempt to cook a gammon joint.

I’d throw in a bit of cleaning here and there and that would be it. Then I’d unearth the T.V Christmas edition of ‘What’s On,’ (only ever buy a Christmas one) and settle down around 4.00 pm Christmas Eve until New Year’s Day.

Good plan? Yes. But then, you know what they say about ‘the best laid plans?’

I think I’ve told you in previous blogs that dear Richard has a massive right shoulder problem? He needs an op to shave a tendon and scrape a bone. I appreciate that this is hardly the technical term for such a procedure but other than Googling it (can’t be bothered) or listening again to Richard’s useless effort at telling me what’s going on (can’t be bothered) I’ll just stick to layman’s terms and repeat …he needs a tendon shaving and a bone scraping.

We have actually both been eagerly awaiting this appointment. Richard because he is in intense/immense pain and yours truly because the man makes such a performance out of bringing in a basket of logs from the log shed that I’m seriously considering enrolling him in the local amateur dramatics group. He plays the wounded soldier to Oscar level.

Back to the point. The appointment winged in with a Christmas card that had been delivered to the wrong address and lo and behold there it was …New Year’s Eve.

They want to rip, shave and scrape my sweet little Richard’s bones and tendons on New Year’s Eve.

But, as I explained to Richard, this isn’t as bad as it seems, at least it gets us out of the New Year’s Eve bash six doors up! And think of the money we’ll save not having to buy Fairy costumes.  See, ALWAYS a positive from every negative.

You may think that I’m making a bit of a joke about this and in reality I guess I am. However, I am concerned for him, obviously. He has never had an operation or any hospital procedure and I would be happier if I could be there holding his hand and offering encouraging comments like …breath …breath …pant …pant …that’s great, I can see its head. Or is that something totally different? Yes, OK, I am joking but I always do when I’m nervous. I would rather have the op for him. I always feel that I can handle things better than Richard, but I guess he is just going to have to shape up and go for it.

I’m sure that he will have the last laugh because they have advised at least 3 months off work …and it could be as many as six. Are they totally bonkers? Six months is half a year! Half a year of fetching and carrying for Richard? I don’t think so.

Spain sounds good – a couple of months at my brother’s place – just twenty or so miles from Alicante’? But for me or Richard? Richard I think, because let’s face it, how will he muck out the chucks and stuff like that? But then again, some Senorita might be taken in by his brown puppy-dog eyes and he may never return.  She will show him her castanets and he will show her his scraped bone. Let me think that one through …

Failing this, when my Florence Nightingale mode wears thin, I will shove him into the spare room, the one at the front of the house where he will hear the traffic going by, and still feel life’s pulse. I will leave him with everything he needs, drink, food, Land Rover mags and his charged mobile. To leave it flat would be rather cruel, even by my standards, and then, if he requires further supplies he can text me.

Yes, it might work out OK.

And guess what? I don’t believe that for one minute. I may have to risk the castanet-clicking beauty.

061

Take care my lovelies

 
8 Comments

Posted by on December 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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I Only Ever Wanted To Be A Cowgirl!

Hi All

It’s been a while since I blogged – probably 4 weeks or slightly more. However, I did say back then that I was taking a bit of time off after finishing my latest novel (Witch Ever Way You Look At It) to pursue something else, so that is half of the reason.

The other half of the reason is that I have been so angry and generally peed off by the attitude of certain people over the last fortnight that if I wrote anything it would end up being a pure and evil rant and someone would probably die through sheer ether venom. So, having pulled on my hat of calm, and grown-up-person status, I am here to calmly go where I have calmly gone before. Kind of…

Christmas is just around the corner and the grand children have already been over bearing their ‘Grandma and Granddad’ cards. I, on the other hand, haven’t yet purchased theirs. I also haven’t stuck the marzipan on the cake, but I have fed it regularly with Sherry, so that’s something. At least the dear thing is waiting patiently in the cupboard, swaying happily and humming rude pirate-type ditties. I might dig out the block of almond paste that I spied the other day, at the back of a cupboard, and slap it on. I’m sure it’s out of date – the paste not the cupboard – but then so were the flaked and ground almonds if you remember (previous blog) but only by a year or so…

I think I like Christmas – but I also think that I’ve liked it more than I do today. My parents are no longer here and so that is a massive loss at this time of year. It’s hard not to drift back to ‘family Christmases,’ when we were all young and when the excitement of Santa coming was almost uncontrollable. I’m not sure if I ever quite accepted, in an easy manner, the idea of a strange man entering my bedroom whilst I slept? I might view this differently now?

Back then the man in the red suit never failed to bring to me my heart’s desires. I think I was an easy child to please, in all honestly, and I remember one of my ‘greatest’ gifts was a cowgirl outfit. I opened my eyes one Christmas morning and there it was, hanging on the wardrobe door, beige imitation leather and tassels so long that they touched the floor.

From this point onward I became Calamity Jane, roping and riding my brother, sitting on his back as he struggled round on hands and knees, rearing up and down, trying to shake me off. Like that was ever going to happen! Obviously, the ‘outfit’ didn’t come with ‘tack’ for my horse (brother) so I had to compromise and came up with my dressing gown belt which I made my brother put in his mouth, like a bit, so that I could steer him. It all worked swimmingly, until my stupid brother turned the wrong way and a quick snatch of the belt, to correct him, removed his molar. Mum wasn’t too impressed but I do think my brother over-egged the pudding a bit. The tooth was out in a flash and it didn’t bleed much. I went on from that point to be a tomboy and lived up to the name …having one calamity after the other.

I also remember, back then, having pork pie for breakfast. Is this real? Did, and do, people still do that? And Christmas cake with royal icing, so hard that it could have supported foundations and gave you something to grate your teeth on all the way through the Queen’s speech and beyond. I don’t think many people use royal icing these days? Don’t we all use the softer fondant type? And we always had sherry trifle for tea, which was jolly fun – and seemed like even more jolly fun on the second helping than the first.

And dear Mum – cooking her little socks off for us all. And Dad, working hard to give his children Christmases to remember – and not just because of the gifts, but because of the love and family time we shared. As I say, I miss those Christmases.

But there is still joy. In comes in the form of the grandchildren. Small people loving the excitement and the expectation of Christmas. On their last visit they posed for pics’ in front of the Christmas tree. Jake sang hymns and carols that he had learnt at school and Grace performed her ‘ballerina’ moves that she had learnt at nursery.Her pirouette needs a little more work but she’s getting there  – and she is only 3. I don’t want this to make you think that Grace is a pink girlie-type – though she does rather like pink. No, I think Grace could well be asking for a cowgirl outfit next year. And as luck would have it Jake is at that age where his ‘baby’ teeth are queuing up to be shed. Just as well really.061

Take care my lovelies x

 

 
20 Comments

Posted by on December 12, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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With A Little Thought You Too Can Find The Perfect Birthday Gift!

Hi All

So what’s been happening since I last blogged? Well …I’ve had a birthday, not that I honestly take much notice of birthdays now. I guess I should really, you know, celebrate another year on the clock, and the fact that I’ve actually made it through another year without being imprisoned for murdering Richard.

Yes, I know certain followers of this blog love him, Malla for one, but then you guys and gals don’t live with him …though, I like to think that he lives with me.

Would you love him so much if he celebrated your birthdays how he celebrates mine?

As I opened my eyes on my birthday morning he appeared like the genie of the lamp at the side of the bed with a mug of tea and an envelope.

‘Thought you might like to open your card up here?’ he said, handing it to me. ‘I think you’ll like it, this year.’

Did you catch the two words that he’d added on there? “This year.” Richard’s cards are crap – basically.

Knowing that I wouldn’t like the card I forced a smile and opened it. Blinding me, on the front of the card, were the 2 numerals declaring my age and a stupid heading saying, ‘Even though you are (the 2 numerals) you are still cool. The picture was of an ancient being, wizened and bent, dressed in a jogging suit and a pink headband hobbling down the road. I placed the card on the bed and looked at Richard.

He left the tea and disappeared mumbling something about him having thought it was a really nice card but obviously he’d got it wrong AGAIN!

If he could be as good at getting things wrong as he is at getting things right he would be the perfect man. More was to come.

Set out on the long kitchen table was a birthday cake and a very pretty gift bag. I refrained from letting my optimism soar because, as I say, I know Richard. I sat down and he gently pushed the bag across the table. It looked rather full. Could I have got it wrong at last? Could he have got it right?

I slipped my hand into the bag and my fingers wound around a large, shiny object. I secured it tightly in my hand, because it was quite heavy, and lifted it from the pretty bag …and stared …and then glanced at Richard …and then stared some more.

‘Slug pellets? These are slug pellets!’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘I know they aren’t really a birthday present …but I know you said you needed some.’

I opened the other item in the bag and that was a pretty chicken ornament thing for the kitchen windowsill. It was OK, nice in fact, because I’d seen it in a garden centre a few weeks ago and remarked on it.

Later, when my son and grand kiddies came over with their little gifts, all of which I loved, Jake (7) asked, ‘Grandma, why have you got slug pellets for your birthday?’

I really didn’t want to say, ‘Because Granddad is a thoughtless idiot.’ and ruin Jake’s extremely high opinion of a really fun granddad …so I didn’t.

The following day I journeyed up the garden and lovingly scattered the slug pellets around my netted-off spring cabbage babies. If anyone tries to tell you that slugs hibernate don’t you believe it. The little sods still risk the wet and cold to munch on next year’s potential harvest.

The garden is almost sleeping now and the chucks are in their element, having been allowed up into the vegetable garden bit. The ground is covered with apple tree leaves and birch leaves and many other types of leaves and the chucks love scratching through the drifted heaps, exposing the last little surviving bugs of the summer. The sound they make as they rustle the drying leaves is like music to my ears – but then, as we all know, I’m weird.

But possibly not quite as weird as someone who purchases slug pellets for the love of his life’s birthday?

I am SO looking forward to Christmas and my ‘surprise’ gift/gifts.2014-04-21 15.42.22

 

Take care my lovelies x

 
26 Comments

Posted by on November 11, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Shopping List …Bananas, Loo Rolls, Cat Food, Windows …Windows?

Hi All

You all know what a sweet, meek and mild individual I am, right? Right. So it might surprise you to learn that some days ago I was incensed to the point where I ‘took on’ two men in Morrison’s.

My temper started to rise as I stood packing Richard’s extra strong deodorant and his horrible little pots of ‘spread.’ They claim to be beef, chicken, salmon, tuna and mayonnaise, etc. Weirdly, they all smell much the same – but then, why should I worry, the man eats anything with no concern for how many ears, fins and butts go into his choices of sustenance. I digress …

As I loaded up the twenty-toilet roll pack, balancing it precariously, with my eyes still on the little scene causing my anger, I flipped.

‘Look at those window salesmen!’ I hissed to the checkout lady. ‘Can you see them? Every time someone walks past that tall one jumps out and stands in front of the trolley and forces them into a conversation about buying their crap windows!’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Can you see them? Look, they’ve stopped that little lady and she looks really uncomfortable.’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Honestly,’ I said, ‘I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.’

‘I know,’ she said.

I don’t think she was really listening. Either that or she was wondering what anyone could want with six tubs of glace cherries?

As I scooted off, with a trolley that kept veering to the right, she added, ‘Good luck, I’ll be watching.’

Trundling along, actually seeking eye-contact should they not leap out on me like they had to everyone else attempting to exit Morrison’s, wrapped in their own little thoughts and not wanting to be disturbed by, ‘Have you thought about new windows?’ I approached. For a moment, I thought they weren’t going to stop me (how could that be?) so I slowed down.

The little guy sidled up to my trolley and the tall guy stepped in front of it and placed a hand on my pack of loo rolls. Big mistake.

‘Madam,’ the tall one said, grinning like a sodding shark, ‘have you considered new windows?’

‘And if I have?’ I said.

‘Well, we can offer …’

I held up a hand, cutting him off at the pass. ‘What makes you think that if I needed new windows I would buy them from someone jumping out in front of my trolley, in a supermarket? I come to the supermarket to buy food, NOT windows and NOT to be stopped by you!’

‘Some people like to stop and chat,’ he said, his grin not quite so wide now.

‘I don’t!’ I said, ‘and neither did those little old ladies that I saw you stop. I don’t come here to be pounced on by you.’

‘Madam, ‘he said, ‘we stand here so that we can get our product ‘out’ there. We have to network, perhaps you don’t understand the concept of networking and …’

Up came the hand again, very rudely, but he really was full of it. ‘Don’t tell me I don’t understand networking and promotion, I’m a writer…’ I actually said that and cringed inwardly ‘…I have to promote my product, but I don’t promote it HERE, do I? I don’t stop little old ladies and force them to buy something they don’t want, do I? You will never come in here and find me jumping into people’s airspace waving a copy of my book in their faces, will you!’

The little salesman was watching now, with the hint of a smile and having backed-up to the perfume display, and I was pretty sure that he wasn’t that keen on his workmate’s blatant selling ethics either.

‘Why do you do it?’ I demanded with my chin raised and jutting.

‘Well Madam, most people who shop are chilled and relaxed and are happy to stop and chat. They are more open to this type of selling.’

‘So, where do I fit into that theory? I said.

I think at this point he realised I wasn’t going to be ordering a new front door and that he had lost valuable ground. He decided to change tactics and appeal to my kind nature.

‘Well, we are very nice …and we are very pleasant.’

I looked at the little guy and then the tall, clever bugger and said, ‘No, he’s nice and pleasant. YOU aren’t – and you definitely need to review your attitude and sales technique!’

And I left. Fortunately, the trolley that only steered to the right, was taken by surprise at my sudden exit and veered horribly and hit him on the knee.

You see, it wasn’t that they were selling windows in Morrison’s, it was that they were forcing themselves on people – and that should not be allowed in my opinion. I have a problem with pushy, in-my-face people – and I am a Scorpio. Creep up on us, or stand in our way, and you’ll receive a quick stab of our tails. We will be guided, but we won’t be herded.

At all other times, I’m a pussy cat …possibly?

Take care my lovelies x015

 
23 Comments

Posted by on October 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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A Milestone …A Witch …And Food Poisoning?

Hi All

I have just been informed by WordPress that I have reached another milestone – two years blogging.

First, I am impressed that I had two-year’s worth of words in me. Second, I’m surprised that anyone has wanted to read them. And third, I wonder just how many more words I would have had – if thousands of them had not exited into the ether, after disappearing from the page? I think I’ve improved since then and learnt mostly how not to do that. I’m still struggling with the wrong picture appearing, though. Instead of a picture relevant to the post, I seem to have my book covers everywhere.

This annoys me more than you will ever know. I get sick of seeing them and so I know that you must too. However, as I say, I haven’t figured this out yet and so, for now, I have to go with the flow.

I guess, if I think about it, and knowing how ditsy I am, I should be grateful that anything leaves this page intentionally. But ditsy kinda works for me …somehow.

I’m childish too.

I saw a witch in the cheapo shop the other week. Not a real witch, obviously, although some of the people around here are a bit suspect. No, a full-length floaty witch, and I had to have her – no, I mean, I really had to have her. My original thought was to keep her a secret until Halloween and then to hang her outside the kitchen patio doors, under the dry, porch-type area, and scare the proverbial out of Richard – he’s been very irritating just lately and so I considered he deserved it. Unfortunately, my impatient nature reared its ugly head and I had to ‘hang’ her immediately.

Richard came home and I instantly showed him my witch and said, ‘I was going to keep her until Halloween and then hang her up secretly and scare the shit out of you.’

He looked her up and down and remarked, ‘I’d probably be speaking to it for ten minutes before I realised it wasn’t you.’

Now, I ask you, is that Kind?

I’m getting my own back.

This morning I had a clean out of the ‘dry’ cupboard. Flour, fruit etc. and decided to whack it all into two Christmas cakes. It all went swimmingly until I came across a full, unopened bag of ground almonds. It seemed like a waste to only use half, seeing as how I was trying to use up all the odds and sods, so I tipped the whole bag in. I thought it quite weird that there was no ‘almond’ aroma wafting upwards, so I stuck my finger in and tried them. They tasted like sawdust – or how I thought sawdust might taste? When I checked the sell-by date it said May 2012.

Now, I have always been of the opinion that it isn’t the cockups you make in life that matter, but how you get out of them, so I added a bottle of almond essence. It did the trick. An eye-watering almond aroma flooded the kitchen and even made Chea blink. I then bunged in a glass full of sherry. Alcohol kills everything, doesn’t it?

Anyway, I probably won’t eat Christmas cake this year …but Richard will. Serves him right for the unkind witch comment.

I’ve just noticed that I’ve spilt flour on the floor so I’ll pop off now and give it a quick waft-over with my broom …

Take care my lovelies x2014-10-14 07.41.03

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on October 16, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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My Very Own John Wayne? Hopefully Not!

Hi All

Well, it’s been a little while since I raised the old bonce above the parapet, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been doing nothing. In fact, I’ve been so busy that I just haven’t had the time to raise my head.

Obviously, a great part of my time has been wasted on trying to sort out my laptop that suddenly decided it wasn’t going to link to anything to do with the internet, and the old Dell had to be sourced from the drawer and kick-started into life.

The sweet little thing loved it, doing its best to link to everything and anything within a mere matter of ages! It battled along beautifully and I promised it faithfully that I would show total commitment to it and never again shove it back into the dark scary drawer. Then, one morning, the old rush of blood to the head occurred and I uninstalled Dropbox on the super-duper non-working laptop and hey presto…it worked. So, I quietly closed down poor Dell and …yeah, shoved it back into the drawer. I’m so fickle. But, you see, I can’t keep raiding the fridge and making tea while I wait ten minutes each time for old Dell boy to link to Facebook or Twitter or whatever, can I?

Also (drum roll) I’ve finished the next novel, Witch Ever Way You Look At It (that’s not a typo by the way) and yesterday shipped it off to my editor. ‘My editor’ Whooo hoo. Yes, I’ve decided that it’s time I went about this properly and have someone struggle through all my unnecessary dots, dashes and ellipses. I love them, like special little furry friends, but I know I use too many so…it’s time for the cull, I fear.

Also, I’ve become involved in a real love of mine, albeit a love that I haven’t experienced for some years. I have become involved as the font of all knowledge in the process of pony buying, pony handling and pony this and that, for two very dear friends Lauren and Ash. Of course, this has caused ripples of interest in Richard’s brain, and last night I caught him looking at ‘Horses for Sale in Leicestershire.’ I’ve told him that he would need a carthorse and I’ve stressed the pitfalls – and they haven’t included the actual falls. Can you imagine the damage when six-foot-two-ish Richard hits the ground from something as tall a giraffe? It would take me bloody ages to fill in the hole made in the ménage! He thinks, just because he can feed the pony (Flo) with an apple from the palm of his hand he can become the next John Wayne. Frankly, I think he’s just fantasising about the black leather boots and swishy riding whip, hardly a sound reason to lash-out a few grand on an elephant-sized equine!

And then there is the garden! Wow, what a little beauty that has been this year. Masses and masses of produce. The cupboards are bursting with jam and chutney. Thankfully, everything is coming to the end of production…except for the sodding runner beans. They breed overnight, under the cover of darkness, and come the morning they are dangling there with smiles on their faces. Richard has almost turned green with all the beans that I’ve forced him to eat. ‘Eat your runner beans and then you can have pudding,’ is the constant promise made from yours truly. Obviously, I’m lying because he’s on a diet and pudding isn’t allowed. And don’t go feeling sorry for him (especially you, Malla) because if he’s going to buy a carthorse and learn how to ride it he will need to shed a few extra pounds. Even a carthorse can only take so much!

The chucks are in chuck heaven, because now that the soft fruits and chicken-chomping stuff is no longer growing I have allowed them up into the veggie plot and they spend hours scratching through the fallen leaves, looking for, and finding, insects and bugs. And this gives me immense pleasure, not the annihilation of the bugs, but watching the chucks, happily foraging with the autumn sunshine on their backs.

And……I’ve started bread making! Yesterday’s first attempt was crap. Utter crap. Looked brilliant. Could barely get the Kitchen Devil knife through it, and the bit of crust I threw out for the birds grounded the poor things. Today I was determined to do better, and, as I type, a loaf is rising. However, ten minutes after I’d put it to rise I realised that I hadn’t put enough yeast in it so out it came and in went more yeast. So that looks like another shit attempt. But have no fear, I WILL make a success of this, or die trying.

And right on cue the little timer thingy is ringing (and I’m even using a timer) so off I trot to knock it back. See, I already have the terminology! Cool.

Take care my lovelies x2014-08-30 10.11.10

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on October 2, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Just When You Think You Know Someone… You Realise You Don’t!

Hi All

You know how they say that you can live with someone for a lifetime and still not really know them? Well, obviously I haven’t lived with Richard for a lifetime, but I do think that I know him, which is hardly fair because there is no way he knows me…at least, not the part of me that constantly confuses and surprises him.

The latest ‘thought I knew him but obviously do not’ episode happened last week.

I was happily causing mayhem on the internet and a text arrived. It said that my order would be with me in two hours, which was weird because I hadn’t ordered anything, other than that nice Mark Harmon from NCIS and, being a realist, I knew the chances of him being delivered were slim. So I forwarded the text to Richard and received no reply. Considering that this was a mistake on the carriers part I cleared off to Morrison’s to buy some bleach for the loo.

On the way out of Morrison’s I spied a little man sitting at a table collecting for something or other. He looked nice so I dropped a pound in his lap. He said, ‘Thank you,’ followed by, ‘Can I interest you in signing up for organ donation?’ My first thought was that he was asking for my old piano, which in itself was weird because I don’t have a piano, old or new. When it twigged that what he was actually requesting was my offal, I laughed.

‘Don’t think any living skin cell on this body will be of any use to anyone,’ I said, smiling my best smile.

‘You don’t smoke and you don’t drink,’ he said, running his eyes up and down my body.

‘How do you know that!’ I screeched. ‘Are you psychic?

‘I know,’ he said, mysteriously. ‘I can tell by looking at you, so there will be a lot that they can use from your body.’

He then went on to convince me that I’m wonderful and that even the parts I thought were worn-out and buggered for all time would be of use to someone.

Anyway, I’m digressing. I trotted out of Morrison’s totally rejuvenated and clutching the organ donation form in my perfect hand.

I haven’t signed it yet. It’s one of those things that once you’ve thought about it you really should give it serious consideration, and I will. Richard has carried a donor card since the day I met him, 23/24 years ago – not that much of him will be of use to anyone. Except maybe his heart. He has the kindest heart and anyone would be privileged to receive it.

Blimey.

Right, when I got home there was a scrap of paper saying that the parcel had been returned from whence it came as no one was here.

Richard later admitted that yes he had ordered something and he would rearrange for it to be delivered.

The next day I saw a note pinned to the front door advising the delivery to be left in the porch, so as not to interrupt me and my busy schedule (????). At some point in the morning the package must have been delivered because when he came home from work he walked in carrying it.

‘What’s that?’ I said, shaking my head and fearing the answer. You see, Richard sits scanning eBay in the evenings and he can’t stop his grubby little finger from twitching over the ‘buy’ button and things are forever dropping through the letterbox, or the postie is standing there leaning on the doorbell, laden down with Richard’s latest ‘need’.

He set about opening the box and pulled out a….wait for it…. banjo!

Yep, a sodding banjo.

‘What the **** have you bought THAT for?’ I shrieked, not holding back on the expletive. This was definitely a more serious purchase than a sticker for the Land Rover.

‘Because I’ve always wanted one,’ he said, grinning, running his hand lovingly over the stupid thing.

‘What do you mean, “You’ve always wanted one” I’ve never heard you mention you’ve always wanted one in the twenty-three years that I’ve known you. You can’t play a triangle and you’re tone deaf.’

‘Well I have,’ he said, obstinately, continuing his loving caresses.

‘You can’t even play it!’

‘I’m going to learn,’ he said.

‘How?’ I said.

‘From the internet.’

‘The internet!’ I bellowed.

‘Yeah, You Tube.’

I had to turn my attention back to NCIS, but before I did I said, ‘You’re not playing that thing in the house.’

‘Don’t intend to,’ he said. ‘I’m playing it in my shed.’

Yeah well, good luck with that. But then, thinking about it, why not? He has a wood burner in there and a large leather sofa and a TV and a radio and wine (maturing in the corner) so he may well disappear into there at the start of autumn and not be seen again until the spring. Much like a grizzly. Suppose I may have to supply him with the odd casserole and crust of bread…but small price to pay for not having my ears subjected to the sound of a million wailing cats.

So, this is the point. You never really know someone. Richard has been hiding the fact that he wants to turn into a banjo-playing hickory-hollow-guy for a very long time, which is really strange because the guy can’t hide anything. He is as readable as a large print book.

I know what has started this. He thinks I don’t, but I do. He tracked down a very old film recently and they do that ‘duelling banjos’ thingy. He likes it. It offends my ears. But anyway, that’s that. The banjo has been taken to work today for an expert to ‘tune it,’ and then it’s off to the shed and away he goes.

I kid you not, my dears, it will be back on eBay by the end of the year!

Take care my lovelies x015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
18 Comments

Posted by on September 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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