I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that Someone has got it in for me. Everything I touch goes wrong. Waaah. Latest thing was scales going mad, in the middle of weighing out gredients* for a cake. Well not quite the latest thing. Something vital mysteriously vanished, after that. To list the things that went before would take too long and sound hideously self-pitying to boot. But grrrr! and gahhhh! Well, I have turned the air blue at full volume a couple of times. The neighbours can’t complain. One was out - I suspect on the pull judging from the garb;- ) - and the others had a full-on family barney, including people storming out and everything. In another mood, I would have found that highly entertaining.
Perhaps, as per Pratchett, I should go and talk to a witch - to ask her to stop doing it.
*with flawless three-year-old logic, I insisted that they were gredients until they were ‘in’ something. Still strikes me as a reasonable stance.
Well, I am conceited enough to think that Magrat, being quite the wet hen, wouldn’t be able to be doing this at me. I reckon Granny. Although I have a sneaking fondness for Tiffany, largely founded on her use of her wee brother as monster bait.
Our weeny BBQ woz quite good, eventually. When I say that BBQ weather is like hen’s teeth, round these parts, I speak the truth. So, the lumpwood bags we had stored in the garage had obviously become dampened and not willing to provide a fire. Hoops were jumped through* (for the sake of Dear Friends) and we had fun.
*by Mr Soo
Soo xx
Apparenrtly cockchafers (may-bugs) are coming back. We found a dead one on the front steps this morning, and this fellow crashed into me several times while I was in the garden this evening.
Given how much trouble he had righting himself when he’d crashed into a table and ended up on his back, I start to see what may have happened to the other one.
I’m not warming to Cockchafers:
and, had they presented themselves at my teeny BBQ, they would have been toast - long before the food. It seems that I coexist with insecticidal maniacs, as several house flies would confirm - were they alive.
Soo xx
I hate May-Bugs. Ever since once made acterrifying racket coming down the chimbley and made a bee-line (ok, a may-bug line) straight for me wings a-buzzing when it emitted.
It was the size of the BAe wing transporter, the Beluga, & much louder.
It seems, from extensive reesearch done by me, that Maybugs are a largely southern problem.
I gain no pleasure from this, and wish you well in batting the buggas away.
Good nights, Cellarites,
Soo xx
Is there Donkey blood on either side of the family, Soo? because there is a definite donkishness about that phizogg, at first (and successive) glances. As well as a certan Biggles quality.
G xxx
I must have a word or two with my publicist. Some of the archive pics are less than accurate.
I’ll bee off to bed, determined to brush my fuzz in more appealing ways, in the morn.
Soo xx
