Off for my PCR test this morning, before elective surgery on my crooked toe, after which I must self isolate. Discussed this with ‘im outdoors and, on being informed that he had to choose between self isolating with me or isolating from me, he paused to consider the options just that little bit too long……

In 2012, when the girls were small, we had a menagerie of animals which caused much work, amusement and general chaos. I wrote a brief blog for the most trying creatures: an aggressively stalky cockerel, a number of ineptly suicidal pheasant chicks and ferrets who repeatedly ate their offspring.

Just found them!

Eric the cockerel:

Woke up at 4am. Crowed. Crapped. Crowed. Waited for the bastards to open the hatch. Crowed. Crowed. Crapped. Crowed. Went out. Bossed hens about. Tried to kick the arse of the big two legged Mama but got booted unceremoniously into a tree. Legged it. Crowed. Strutted about at a safe distance. Crowed. Crapped. Ran comically down the garden. Ran comically up the garden. Lurked in hedge and scared crap out of dog. Hang on – where’s my girls gone? Ooerr it’s getting dark. Run for cover. Perch. Crap. Crow. Snuggle up with my bitches. Sleep.

Pheasant chicks:

Woke up. Ran around aimlessly. Tried to hang myself on the netting. Fell in water and had to be fished out. Pecked my neighbour. Cheeped. Crapped. Flapped a bit. Stood on another chick and looked a bit puzzled. Slept. Repeat.

Fungus the ferret:

Woke up. Stretched. Ate dead rabbit. Drank. Pooed. Shagged unnecessarily enthusiastically and noisily. Napped in hammock. Peered outside. Made nest in straw. Slept. Shagged unnecessarily enthusiastically and noisily. Bit other ferret. Slept.

1010

I’m a frequent cake baker and take one into work every week. My cakes are easy, basic and unadorned, as I really have no talent for decorative work. Musing over my attempt at decorating a red nose themed cake for comic relief bake off at work. Was aiming for an amusingly jolly face. Have created a sinister child molester instead. *sigh*.

‘im outdoors: “Have you read that article about the author who, when she was dying, wrote a dating profile for her husband? Wonder what you would write on mine?”Me, peering over the top of my glasses: “I wouldn’t inflict you on anyone else” He seems to find this hugely amusing.

Rotary washing line or drying rack etiquette:Mother:Start in middle of line or bottom of rack so that anyone else wanting to hang out a further load of washing can do so with ease. Other inhabitants of house: Start at outside of line or top of rack because that’s the easiest and most accessible and anyone else can just fuck off.

Today I am experimenting (will I ever learn?) with a new pair of “control top” tights and an anti frizz shampoo and conditioner which is supposed to smell like “watermelon burst” but (having been liberally applied in the shower) is emanating an aroma not dissimilar to my compost bin which is way overdue for emptying.
I have a feeling around my torso reminiscent of the time I hurriedly dressed and ended up on my way to work in my 11 year old’s tights. It took a fair amount of effort to get these on today and I now I realise I didn’t think this one through properly. There may be extended absences from my workstation when I need to visit the facilities.
If you don’t hear from me again, follow the subtle smell of rotting fruit and you will find me trapped in a cubicle with my hosiery wrapped around my knees.

Afternoon walk with dogs.
Heavy skies with tiny flakes of snow scurrying about.
Both spaniels completely disgraced themselves.
Cute Frolicsome Spaniel squeezed through the farmer’s hedge and refused to come back to the whistle so I had to go into his garden and haul her out by the scruff of her neck from under their garden table, where she was gorging on the cat food.
Meanwhile, as I returned to the path, Big Stupid Spaniel (who had only just stopped honking of rotting rat which he had liberally applied to himself about a week ago) had found something even more rank, fetid and irresistible and was orgasmically rolling around, lavishly smearing the majority of it along his neck and right flank.
Nothing that a cold spray hose nozzle, carpet shampoo and Febreze can’t handle….

Today I am experimenting (will I ever learn?) with a new pair of “control top” tights and an anti frizz shampoo and conditioner which is supposed to smell like “watermelon burst” but (having been liberally applied in the shower) is emanating an aroma not dissimilar to my compost bin which is way overdue for emptying.
I have a feeling around my torso reminiscent of the time I hurriedly dressed and ended up on my way to work in my 11 year old’s tights. It took a fair amount of effort to get these on today and I now I realise I didn’t think this one through properly. There may be extended absences from my workstation when I need to visit the facilities.
If you don’t hear from me again, follow the subtle smell of rotting fruit and you will find me trapped in a cubicle with my hosiery wrapped around my knees.