Spirit Levelling

I have paused for a while to recover my equilibrium. It appears to have flown the nest, hopefully temporarily.

Until then, here is some piped music....

Counting Crows

The gripes of last week haven’t entirely gone away, but some things have improved.

For your information, I reckon there are now about 5,000,000 assorted crows, not to mention their friends, nesting in the trees next to my house. And yes, I know exactly how many zeroes I’ve put after that 5 and no, I’m not going to delete any of them. It is not hyperbole – it is what my ears are telling me is an accurate figure.

This morning I found a fledgeling crow hopping about in the garden (no doubt SPYING on me on behalf of Crow Headquarters in the tree opposite). I told it, in no uncertain terms, that I had purchased a four pack of ear plugs from Boots. Hopefully this message has now been passed on by the juvenile secret agent, and my feathered tormenters will realise that their evil plans have been foiled.

In the meantime, to make up for the loss of the Stinking Billy crop, my little helper has assisted with the planting of the most garish dahlias I could find in the shop.

Dahlias with built in crow repellent

And unbelievably, one of the plants I set last year has actually blossomed. This is an almost unheard of event. I was so shocked I could barely hold the camera, but felt it important to get the evidence before the whole plant is eaten by killer slugs overnight.

Help!

On the craft front, things are going less well. The alpaca has not progressed. His legs are willing, but his body is totally deformed. I’m going to give it one more week and then advertise it as a stunted mule. What’s the worst that can happen?

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This week I have been mainly getting used to having foam in my ears.

Everything’s Coming Up Henbane

Over two weeks since the last entry. Admittedly, I rarely have anything interesting to say, but a fortnight of being quite grumpy has passed so why not spread the joy, I say.

Reasons to be grumpy.

1. I have had a sore throat for 6 weeks. It is not much in the scheme of things. I’ve had worse. But it’s relentless, pretends to go, and then comes back the next day just to wind me up.

2. When I caved in and went to the doctor about it, he told me that in the old days, people had to cope without antibiotics “and just got on with things. Or died”. Yes, he really said that.

“Well in that case, let’s just send children back up chimneys, down mines, reintroduce workhouses and stop women voting!”. I didn’t actually say that, but I thought it nonetheless and I bet he was secretly scared of me.

3. Having spent forever setting up a game of Mousetrap with SmallCat, one of the family pets (a real cat), decided to join in, leaped onto the table and ruined the board layout. Have you any idea how long it takes to connect the toilet to the sink, the car to the box and the net to the pole? No? It’s like Dante’s seventh circle of hell, I tell you.

“I’d like the orange mouse, please”.

4. My Stinking Billys died. And before you ask, I refuse to call them Sweet Williams because of what happened at Culloden, 1745*. Yes, it was that long ago and no, I’m not even Scottish. But had my mother lived in Edinburgh I MIGHT WELL HAVE BEEN!

5. My local pub has stopped running a quiz on Sunday night. They will pay for this. I’m not sure how, but I’ll think of something.

6. The dawn chorus. As the sun rises earlier, so do the feathered fiends. Every morning about 5,678 assorted birds start singing the ornithological equivalent of Status Quo’s greatest hits. For about THREE HOURS.

7. My dining room has looked like this for the past 9 years.

GAH!

Admittedly MrCat has done a lot to alleviate this over the past two weekends, but how can one just leave these things for NINE WHOLE YEARS?! I’m not a Domestic Goddess, I’m a Domestic Slattern and I shall be writing the companion handbook post haste.

*Sweet Williams are named after William, Duke of Cumberland. In Scotland, however, he’s known as Butcher Cumberland because of his disgraceful behaviour after the Battle of Culloden. To show their annoyance, the Scots were rude to a plant.

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This fortnight I have been mainly reading Ariana Franklin novels and shaking my fist at crows.