Pity the fool.....

That was a stoopid bloody post wasn't it? 'Ooh I bet it won't snow!' 5 days later and we were still in an igloo. But did I get all that lovely stuff done I dreamed about? Did I bugger. I forget that being in the house means being in the house WITH all the members of my own family, who are in the house with all the members of their own family, and this means....... well........ how can I put this nicely? I can't. We are not the Waltons. It's more like giant mutant bacteria on speed in the mosh pit at a Fishbone gig held in a crocodile-infested river when the wildebeest decide to cross from the ToysRUs bank to the Primark Sales side just as chimpanzee burglars on roller skates set off a couple of bombs and the elephant police come to search for clues in vaselined flippers and dalek hats. That nearly describes the interior 'look' we are going for this season. At what point in this scene I thought I'd get out my little pap mach tree is beyond imagination. I felt like a tiny mother bird squidged in the middle of a heaving mass of squawking open beaks. And if I raised my eyes to the heavens I was blinded by a blizzard of paper spikes. Who's bright idea was it to make pretty snowflakes? So now we had as much perplexing whiteness inside as well as outside the damned house. And wetness. My god the wetness. How much wetness 4 children can produce per garden excursion is knee-deeply astounding. My poor radiators just couldn't take the load. And so the sound of the washing machine door banging shut became louder and more floor-trembling with every slam of the back door. Well, when they bothered shutting the damned door that was. There was alot of door-banging one way or another - the washing machine, tumble dryer, the fridge, the oven ....... and what was that slam? Oh for fuck's sake they've bloody gone out again! More towels please...... More paracetamol..... Shame one can't quite slam the oven door behind one's head. I don't think it works with electric anyway. Would just have a hot pink bubbling noodle on my otherwise pasty white bod. Not good with magenta hair and flame streaks. I say 'flame'. It seemed better than 'orange'. I seem to have digressed.....

Ah well.....

What shall I wish for by accident next then?


Hey - I bet we never find a barrelful of gold under the old yew tree. Just think of the consequences that would bring eh?


(It might just work...?)