This is a photo of part of my garden a couple of years ago before it all went to rack and ruin...bit like me really 'cos I swear to the gods that I'm losing my grip rapidly.
For one thing I can never remember where I've put anything...and there are few places available in our cottage to put much to begin with...being limited in cupboards and hidy holes doesn't defeat the Faeries who are hell bent on hiding stuff just to annoy me...
I was looking for all the gumph about Richard Empson who lost his head and I knew full well I'd printed it all off and put it away...but where exactly? I simply don't know where it is and I'd wanted to get some family history sent off to Carla and Shaun and so I had to print it all out again and would the printer play nicely and just print the pages I asked for...no, it wouldn't. It threw out reams of stuff of no interest to man nor beast and then sat back and smirked.
Then I wanted to print the picture of him with his partner in treason and the King...found it on Wikipedia easily enough...chose to print it...and away we went again with the printer hurling pages of pristine white paper out like there was no tomorrow...once the paper hits the floor all is lost and it has to be used for shopping lists because between the clumps of dog hair and the grit and those bits it might pay not to look too closely at...those pristine sheets of paper become awful grubby.
Then when I'd finally beaten the printer into submission and it had done what I'd asked it to do in the first place, I looked for my stencil of trailing ivy.
It isn't in the folder clearly marked Stencils...that would be simply too easy...it isn't on the shelves in my workroom...it isn't in that horrible top drawer of the chest of drawers in the sitting room where stuff is stuffed for want of a better home...so where is it? I'll be fecked if I know.
I announced to Himself that he has liver and onion cassorole for his supper tonight and all was deathly quiet so I repeated it and then turned round to see he had his earphones plugged in...so he doesn't know what delights await his plate 'cos I'll wait until I serve it then he'll be all delighted and tuck in when he could have known ages ago...if he hadn't had been wired for sound.
Actually I did buy him those earphone thingys 'cos his choice of music isn't mine and it used to drive me crackers when he went to Youtube and found ancient stupid pop songs that are the type to go round and round in your head for the entire day...even though you loathe them.
Then Jason called for the key to Annies cottage and Himself looked at him all sort of gormless and I just knew he couldn't remember who he was and so I didn't tell him...just quietly kicked Bobby 'cos he was looking at Jason with that funny sort of look which always makes me think he'd quite like to bite...sort of cock-eyed and a bit squinty.
After Jason had gone I explained to Bobby for the umpteenth time that if Mummy lets someone into the house then they are alright and don't need biting on the ankles...and he just rolled his eyes and said...ok...if you say so...and then he sighed a heavy sigh and went outside to bark at Tom's cows...
One of which was wandering aimlessly down our street yesterday afternoon with that vacant look on it's face which only cows can achieve...'who am I' 'why am I here'...that sort of look. As I don't much care for Tom's cows 'cos they are mostly liable to race about with their udders swinging alarmingly...I yelled for Himself to sort it out...which he did.
And just why do I refer to myself as the feckin' dogs Mummy heaven only knows...
I went grocery shopping today and was waiting at the meat counter while Potty Penny's husband regaled the young lad behind the counter with tall tales...he'd hurled his slab of cat liver into his trolley and was wearing his bedroom slippers again...I was quite happy standing there looking at dead cow and pig and listening to what he'd done in his youth while the lad nodded and made sort of soothing noises but the cross Indian man who is in charge of butchery snapped sharply at Alan and told him to serve me...so I missed the interesting bit about radio recievers tuned into Russian airspace. Actually Alan missed the end of that story as well but I doubt the cross Indian man would have been interested even if we were...
There is another very cross man who has the Stop Go sign for the new bypass...goodness...he waves his arms about like whirlygigs if there is an enormous earth moving machine approaching and you don't slow down quickly enough...you can see him getting crosser and crosser and he goes sort of bright pink over his tan and his arms go like pistons and he mouths awful rude words and it just makes me laugh.
I expect Bobby would be looking at him a bit cross-eyed if he came in our cottage...
Potty Penny's husband wears enormously huge ear phones actually...they are as big as biscuit tins and if he isn't wearing them then they are sort of draped round his neck...Potty Penny told me once that her husband worked for the CIA...and MI5...and MI6...and so I put my nice face on and made vaguely kind noises...like you do if you are going quite potty yourself...