Cracked It! No Glittered Pussy This Year

So, that’s it! The last craft fair is under my belt. The remaining items are sorted, boxed, and stored away until next year. Unfortunately, the ‘storage’ area is the bottom of one of my wardrobes. This means that anything over shirt length is creased and rammed towards the back of the wardrobe. No worries. I’m going to sort through everything again and fill some charity bags.

I tidied these wardrobes earlier in the year and still ended up with hangers full of crap. Too ‘small’ crap. Too ‘busy’ crap. Too ‘boring’ crap. Too ‘plain’ crap. Put simply – crap. So, I am going to be lethal.

Boots and shoes are not escaping the clear-out either. In fact, if anyone would like a free pair of short, brown boots (Clarks – 6) with a small heel, let me know. They have been on my feet once – for ten minutes. Plantar fasciitis now prevents me from wearing anything with a heel. I’m such a poor sod – falling apart at the seams really. These days I only look trendy when in the garden and wearing wellies.

Anyway, that’s that.

The last craft fair was at my local library. The staff were lovely and the event quite successful. In fact, I’m popping a couple of my books down there this morning. Yes, little ‘backwards at coming forwards’ me! I actually enquired if they took self-published books and the chief librarian was most accommodating so . . . I’m starting small and just letting them have ‘Two Chucks and a Tabby Cat’ (that actually isn’t self-published – but a minor detail) and ‘Witch Ever Way You Look At It.’ That should be sufficient to scare the natives into insanity and have them all diving into the depths of The National Forest for a bit of calming tree hugging.

With the left-over craft items stored away and the wardrobes thinned to baldness I shall be happy. These little things do make me happy. Tidiness. Knowing where everything is. I have even addressed the irritating problem of the glittery Christmas tree.

If you remember, I bought the beautiful, silver glittery tree a couple of years ago? The first year it had a major shed of glitter like some poor dog with a serious attack of mange. We wore glitter everywhere – very seasonal but mega embarrassing, especially when you got home and realised that you’d stood chatting to someone in Morrison’s check-out queue with silver glitter on your chin.

The second year it shed less, but even so poor Chea was ridiculed by the neighbourhood cats as she happily, and unknowingly, trotted down the garden path with sparkly ears and twinkly tail, where she’d rubbed beneath the tree.

This year I have sussed it and the bloody tree is outside, in the back porch thingy. It can be seen from inside the house BUT it doesn’t shed glitter everywhere. This year there will be no glitter on my pussy . . . bless her little heart.

So, off to do a tad more tidying, starting with Richard’s slippers. They have expanded like large boats on his feet and I can hear him coming from one end of the house to the other, shuffling along like Frankenstein’s monster. Yesterday he caught the side of the right slipper under the door and almost went arse over topknot. This is three days after missing the bottom two stairs and crumbling into the hall. I was drinking my tea in bed at the time and came very near to scalding myself when I burst into hysterics. What is it that is so hilarious about someone falling over? Anyway, he’s just buggered off to his mother’s now so the slippers will be in the bin when he returns. I call it an act of kindness?

Take care x

http://jennieorbell.com/books/shop/

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6 thoughts on “Cracked It! No Glittered Pussy This Year

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