Wednesday, May 28, 2008


So I'm lying in the Bath. Listening to the wind howl. And there's this buzzing sound.
like a load of bees.
It gets louder.
Then there's this 'pink' sound.
and again.
Then the room is filled with disturbing shadows. And the ceiling lamp contains half a dozen wasps, disturbingly magnified by the glass.
Hmm, wet and naked, electricity and wasps? What shall I do?
common sence prevails & I leg it.
This moring the lamp is full of dead wasps & little fried wasp boddies plug the hole into the ceiling. I decide to leave well alone and shower in the fairy princess room.

So at the weekend it appears I need to remove a wasps nest from my loft space. You just know thats going to turn out well.

These boots were made...

...for holding large quantities of water apparently.
On Saturday Myself & Monkey set of to walk the long Mynd.
I slapped on the sun cream, squeezed my belly over the wasteband of my shorts an prepared for a pleasant stroll across the sun kissed moor. I should have been suspicious when Monkey turned up in full waterproofs, gloves and a wooly hat. It blew a gale & pissed down.
Despite this the walk across the bottom & up ashes hollow was fairly pleasant, if a little damp. But on the top it was grim. My cagaul ceased to be waterproof. My boots filled with water. My legs turned a very strange shade of pink.
Then the map turned to pulp. And some how we got turned around and couldnt find Carding mill valley. Eventually we came down the road. Safe to say I was not a happy camper.
Still a dozen pints of hobsons and last place in the Crown pub quiz put me in a better frame of mind.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Ring of Fire

After a long and glorious bank holiday I find myself on Monday evening with an empty fridge. In fact, the only thing in the house is a small can of chillies bought over from Mexico by a friend of my dads.
So, its chillies for tea.
Eat one chilli.
And they are red hot. Real killers. I need bread. Or anything. But the cupboard is bare.
Except, there are some out of date weetabix. Ok, dried weetabix is a bit like eating sawdust but desperate times call for desperate measures. So, one hideous dried breakfast snack later and the crying stops & my tongue returns to a semblance of normal.
I wont be dumb enough to do that again.
Except that there are about 10 chilli’s in the tin an it would be a shame to waste them.
By chilli number 4 the weetabix are finished.
On number six I attempt to ease the pain by spreading toothpaste on my tongue. It doesn’t help. Finally I am in considerable trouble and resort to licking the carpet, but the tin is finished.

And at 8 am on Tuesday, in a cubical at Sandbach services I'm experiencing a full Johnny Cash moment

And it burns, burns, burns….