Did you know a pig has the intelligence of a three year old human child?
Just saying...
It's been another day of grey skies and general gloom...I spent the morning on my hands and knees washing the sitting floor...I know it's be easier to use a mop, except it wouldn't actually, 'cos when I do I can still see oodles of dog hair and grit from outside everywhere...and I can't do that mop action...you know...sort of having to move backwards and forwards. My back aches and my arms complain, so I get down and dirty instead.
We have that incredibly cheap, slot together, pretend wooden flooring, which has survived puppy pee and big dog vomit and me spilling coffee all over it...I wash it in Fairy Liquid and hot water and it looks as good as new every time...there are homemade rag rugs scattered all over as well which come up beautifully when shoved in the washing machine.
But spending ages on my hands and knees and having to hoist myself up and down to get clean water and moving the table and chairs and shoving Bobby out of the way makes me truly knackered...so I sat down this afternoon and looked at the little bit of plaited rug and decided I didn't like it. So I've taken it to bits and hemmed round another piece of hessian and I'll make another rag rug instead...know where I am with making those. Some of the first ones I made are passed their best so it's time to have new...
There was a play on the radio about fox-hunting and I didn't think I'd like it...so I switched it off. Father once became extremely irate when the local hunt came through our farmyard after a fox...Father used to get cross about many things actually...he was awful cross the day Prince Phillip ran straight into his Land-Rover and shook his fist and demanded they exchange insurance details and that sort of thing...he never did have any time for the man he referred to as 'That bloody Greek'...even less after the bloody Greek wrecked his ancient Land-Rover...
But it was Father's younger brother...my Uncle Alan...who used to get very cross indeed...especially when driving. He'd lean out of the car window and hurl insults at other drivers...'Get out of the way you fool!'...that sort of thing. Himself and I had stayed with Uncle Alan for a couple of days and he took us back to the railway station...that short journey was awful...honestly, I was practically lying on the floor of the car with a face scarlet in embarrassment as Uncle Alan whizzed round round-abouts, shot straight across junctions, overtook old ladies driving carefully, while blowing his horn...Himself was slightly green about the gills when we pulled up with a screech at the station and swore he'd never again get into a car with my Uncle Alan...
And he'd passed the Advanced Drivers test and had the badge on the front of the car to prove it...
Whoops...that was quite a digression...rag rugs to potty Uncles...Uncle Alan is now one hundred and two years old...he hasn't driven for some time you'll be relieved to hear.
It's funny how memories come back isn't it...I'll write about something, which for some reason triggers off an old memory and when I've remembered that, it'll lead on to something else.