I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Spider …

Hi All

Because by nature I am not a lazy person, I don’t want to give in to this feeling of exhaustion and collapse in front of the TV watching an old black and white film. Although, a bit of Johnny Depp in the afternoon could never be termed as a waste of time, could it? A quick shifty on the old Black Pearl? Keep a weather-eye on the horizon? Shiver me timbers – whatever that might mean? Ho ho ho and a bottle of rum.

After being woken the night previously by the charming duo of wailing cats beneath my bedroom window I was really hoping for better things last night. No such luck. At one thirty I woke up coughing. I instantly knew the cause because I have read somewhere recently that the average adult will, in their lifetime, swallow three spiders whilst sleeping – hopefully not all together because that is just plain greedy!

Not having a particular phobia to spiders it didn’t freak me out too much but after a further thirty minutes of coughing I decided to get up and get a sucky sweet or a lozenge. I soon discovered that there was no power and had to creep my way downstairs (with my mouth shut in case of spiders dangling on webs in the dark) and made my way to the kitchen. I managed to lay my hand on two fruit drops before slowly making my way back upstairs.

I finally drifted off to sleep after the sweet had been sucked to death. Thirty minutes later I woke to the blood-curdling screams from the same two feuding cats from the night previously, obviously returning for a rematch. I won’t bore you with the details other than to say that sleep did not engulf me until half an hour before I had to wake, owing to the fact that one of the chucks looked very poorly last night and I wanted to check her the second it was light.

The power was still off. The thought crossed my mind that maybe the power loss wasn’t general and that our extremely sensitive trip switch had tripped out. It often happens at this time of the year. An over exuberant frog has been known to attempt to mate the pond pump, usually resulting in the poor thing getting stuck in it in some ugly manner and blowing the electric. Our electricity box is under the stairs, behind a very heavy wine rack, so after struggling with that so that I could see the trip switch I soon realised that it was still too dark to see anything. I found a candle and returned like Wee Willy Winkie on a bad day. Sure enough the trip had tripped.

With lights restored I ventured out to the chucks and thankfully Beautiful was OK. Not brilliant. But OK. I then checked the pond and that was still running. So the mystery of what tripped the electrics was not discovered.

I then trotted off to Morrison’s where I had a lovely chat with a man in the cat food isle. Apparently he has two spoilt-rotten cats as well. I left him mulling over a new yoghurt-type product for cats. It looked rather too disgusting for me. A brown yoghurt concoction that didn’t look too dissimilar to what you might expect to come out of a cat, rather than what you’d expect to put into it!

Richard had surfaced by the time I got home so I directed him to where he would find the shopping and asked him to bring it in. He only has a bad shoulder remember? I have an inguinal hernia repair and two slipped neck discs – far superior problems! I had my theory on the tripped electrics and when he had finished unloading the car and checking that I hadn’t pranged it, I dived in.

‘What time did you come to bed last night? Did you overload the electric? Do you know we had no power all night? What were you doing down here till the early hours?’

Richard can only handle and deal with one question at a time. I don’t know if it’s a man thing or a Richard thing – I’m sure someone will tell me? Again, I did read somewhere that a man can only think of one thing at a time – and frankly I know what that one thing is!!

He denied everything so I lampooned him about leaving a cereal dish on the floor in the lounge and leaving the TV remote on Chea’s throw.

He has just tootled off to work, relieved to be going I reckon,  but honestly, am I supposed to have to sort out electricity problems in the middle of the night and do everything myself when I have a sodding spider stuck down my throat? I still think he blew it, in some way, shape or form. He’s a sneaky bugger when left to his own devices. I haven’t finished my Poirot act yet. I shall beat the truth out of him later. The only trouble with that is – knowing Richard he will like it too much and won’t look on it as a form of punishment at all!

Think I’ll pop and make a cup of tea. The old throat’s feeling a tad tickly. I hope that spider isn’t on its way back up?

Take care my lovelies x