My car had been parked often under a large silver birch tree during the year, and was well overdue for a visit to the local hand car wash.
A few days ago I drove in after dark and finally got it the bath it so dearly needed.
Soap was sprayed on and then jet-washed off, which caused tiny cells of algae to stream slowly down the windscreen, and in the bright lights of the site it looked just like the effect that was used for the Matrix.

A story about one german shepherd puppy [under a year old]
My youngest has just sent me a post about a really obedient young shepherd who complies with an instruction to NOT eat a rib while human leaves the room.
My reply to her, as it was before she was born:
"Gorgeous!
It reminds me of Torba.
He was a terrible thief and a dog-training friend had advised me on how to "cure" him.
I set up the kitchen as advised and went out.
The theory was that he would steal the meat from the work top - meat which was attached by string to all the saucepan handles on the kitchen shelf, so get terrified by all the clattering and never do it again.
When I returned, he had not only had the meat, but all my lovely saucepans were chomped to destruction, and he'd had a whole Munch Party all by himself."

Reward for recovery.

Well, that was something else!
I've needed a treat of some sort after my health-hiccuping first half of 2013, so I've finally managed it.
No, I haven't been fondling human-weary dolphins, leaping ravines on a monocycle or hurling myself out of aeroplanes with wild abandon and only a few bits of fabric to aid and ease the landing.

A few weeks ago I came to the realisation that I could afford a new "toy".
More of an extravagant essential than that which I would normally consider a thing of joy, but I have to be reasonable.
Three times I attempted to buy one, and three times I failed, but each visit to the shop has brought me a little bit closer to fulfilling my quest.

The first time I touched the box, then something else came up and I had to reassign the money.
The second time I was determined to get one, and even decided on the model, but they were out of stock.
The third time I even got one into my shopping trolley, but then the reassignment thing happened again and I put it back.

Today I completed said quest, and managed to get one of my very own, into my house, and even with a price reduction....
Go me.

I'd bought one years before which is still faithfully working very well, but I'm quite aware that its retirement days are approaching and I really need one for each floor of my house.
This means I do know the huge price is worth it, even though my last model cost £100 more than my car at the time.
I'd initially begrudged the price, but have since learned that it was a good investment on boring essential household equipment [unlike buying a custom-built trike, which is much more exciting, but that's another story].

Without unpacking the other shopping I set about the preparations to operate my new machine, undoing the box [a mini quest in itself] and assembling the contents [the easiest part].

You could say I knew what to expect, with the younger, fresher machine, not forgetting all the researched upgrades for better performance.
Well, it's lighter than you'd expect, surprisingly quiet and the power cord reaches all around my house from the kitchen socket, but -
DAMN! That thing's lively!

Imagine, if you can, extra-hyperactive baby weasels, on a caffeine AND sugar overload, and who had just been told they were going to Weasel-Eurodisney.
This little Dyson vacuum cleaner is more excitable than that.
It almost pulled the next-door-neighbours' dust through the wall.
You could suck out eyeballs with that thing. Internal organs, probably.
I hoovered a tile off the floor, and it wasn't even one of the loose ones!

It's even "aware" of it's over-enthusiasm and has little handles to pull to make it more easily let go of wayward curtains, long-lost socks from under immovable furniture and curious-dog tails that wag too close to the "suck zone".
Like valves; but on my first "date" with this new Dyson I had given the operating instructions only a cursory sweep, of course, and hadn't committed all the little gadget-buttons to memory.

I'll appreciate it for years as I have its predecessor.
It's like hoovering up with a spaceship.
It's also like trying to control, by hand, a tornado!

Housework is mostly a repetitive evil, but this thing has been fun, and made it a lot easier.
Once I get to grips with all the labour-saving functions it should be a breeze.
I'm just glad I haven't got small children in my house. I could lose them forever and be left wondering where the tapping and those funny little muffled voices calling "let me out!" were coming from.

Yes, I ache all over now, because I shouldn't even be lifting more than "the weight of a half-filled kettle" for another three months according to the surgeon, but I couldn't possibly have waited any longer.

Ask me how I am tomorrow, haha; aches are always worse the next day.
Actually,I'll probably be hoovering again, and won't hear you because I'll be making laser-fire noises or chuckling at new mishaps.

And, no, you're not borrowing it.

Dilemma

Tesco in dereham has had a horrible "bad drainage" smell in the entrance area since before christmas 2012 [at least].
The staff deny any knowledge of its utter obnoxiousness, but will admit that they've had the same complaint from other customers.
Being a hardened cynic, I have formed the opinion that it is possibly a ploy to get people to buy more air fresheners/smelly candles.
But that's not my point...

I like "awkward moment" stories, but one I haven't come across yet goes like this:
You walk along one of the aisles in a supermarket and it is empty except for one girl who is stacking shelves.
As you get halfway along you notice the terrible smell.
Impersonating a really vile fart which had been trapped in a jar for years like an evil genie, fermenting, before being released to the public in full force.
Your mind races as you consider consulting the shelf stacking girl in case she hasn't smelled it.
There may be some "off" produce in the area - but, no. She might think it's you.
And what if it was her?
Would you truly want to embarrass the poor thing that much?
So you decide to run.
No again.
What if someone races around the aisle end, in a rush to grab some ingredient they forgot to buy earlier?
They might just get a good look at you, then smell that odourous vapour themselves.
They would definitely think it was you.
Unless you're pulling a really wry face. A look of utter disgust.
But the other shopper might have little or no sense of smell, in which case you'd just look incredibly daft.
your best bet [from experience] is to slowly abandon the offensive area and leave the aisle with as much grace as you can muster.
Better still, leave entirely and continue shopping somewhere else.


Similar dilemmas can happen in public toilets from the cubicle next door, but when it's busy you often hear the accompanying sound effects, and reactions of people waiting.

This is a copy of a post I sent to my daughter on farcebook on 8th february, 2013

‎Roxy - I just had to waste part of my life to text you my amazement at those snowflakes.
Sirius came in with one the size of a small country resting gently on his head; it gave his normally comical look an extra boost.
He seemed proud of it and waited until it melted rather than shake it off.
What a goon.

I also rarely make announcements like this, but thought the mental image worth it.
;)

Like · · Share · Promote · 8 February at 17:53 ·

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  Rookwings Kirk Flake-hat

A Smile for Sunday.

I'm not feeling my best at the moment, having had a chronic sinus infection since august 2012, which is probably compounded by the fact that most of my drains froze up and blocked during this recent harsh piece of winter.
Trouble is, they didn't magically unblock during the thaw, so I went on a scouting mission to see if there was anything in the supermarkets that might do the job.
I returned with two bottles.

One contained a sodium hypochlorite and sodium hydroxide mixture, and the other just the former.
Armed with the pair of products I migrated to the bathroom where I felt the first test should be performed.

Child-safety lids.
Don't you just love them?
You actually need a child to be able to unscrew them for you, and as I didn't have a two-year-old handy I make an assault on the bottles myself.

Plan A:
I did hint that I'm not in full health at the moment, and so the attempt was an utter failure - resulting in a metronome-like chorus of loud clicks, and with the lids not lifting a millimetre.

Plan B:
Not to be discouraged, I shut one bottle in the doorway and wrenched as hard as I could.
This resulted in a gobbet of the contents oozing out through the thread under the lid, all over my hand. Not a good thing. One should preferably keep one's corrosives under control.
Hard to rinse off when the drains are blocked, too.

Plan C:
I got a nice sharp knife and sliced off both the stubborn plastic lids in a satisfying, cheese-slice-type action and the stuff was finally liberated, over the bath and spreading like some giant amoeba, but heading for one of the blocked drains.

I really hope it works - time will tell.
I did have a plunger once, which got lent to family and never seen again, but I have another one "on order" from the borrower. Yeah, right. =)

The whole incident reminded me of a dangerous version of the Cheese-Toastie-Monster, only without the nice cooking smell.

Short story

Dedicated to Rik - because he asked to read it =D   


Blessed are the Meek.


    “I’ve only got a few hours left,” he said out loud. “I may as well enjoy them.” He finished calmly peeling his apple and popped a slice into his mouth. Then an angry frown gripped his brow and he crunched it viciously. A tear fell from his eye, smashing into droplets on the marble floor.
    Sure enough, they were all gone within three days; every single living creature, and I was the only one left. 
    All the wild and corny stories that men had ever written, about the Last One on Earth had finally come true.
    And it was me.
   
    It was such a shame. They had just begun the final experimental stage of a treatment for the terrible sickness that was consuming the whole living world of creatures. I was among six others to whom they had administered the new drug, but they had all become too ill to watch our progress.
    At first, my companions died, one by one, so, with no encouragement to keep working, the scientists gave up the fight and retired to small ailing groups to await their ultimate fate.
    If only they had stayed to observe, but only one dying man came, probably out of morbid curiosity. Sadly, he was in the last stage of the disease, and the excitement of my recovery was too much for him. The sight of me, alive and thriving, drove him into a frenzy of joy, misery and panic. I had survived both the virus and the treatment, so suddenly he was obsessed with an insane effort to treat himself. Within moments of  filling the tube with the drug he had collapsed and begun convulsing. I watched him die on the clean white floor. He lay there, his back arched and rigid, a look of sheer terror fixed on his face. His flailing arm had released the catch on my prison and I was freed.
    I left the room and the building, grateful for my good fortune and ready to explore. I passed by bodies that had been maturing for days, lying lonely and neglected in the summer heat. The only sounds were from moving plants, abandoned washing and deserted mechanical systems that continued their faithful tasks, unaware of the pointlessness of their existence.
    It was a rich and beautiful world. Everyone had been so contented and happy with their lives, until a strange new virus had arrived on incoming transport from space, survived all the eradicating techniques, infected the atmosphere and spread rapidly over this delicate and unaccustomed planet, destroying all animal life with unexpected speed and virility, and before we had actually noticed anything, it was already too late.
    So now this gentle Earth was all mine.
    I explored far and wide, stopping for rest at one point in what was once the Chief Administrator’s palace.
   
Odd-shaped robots went about their business as if nothing had happened, running out their programmes with blind devotion, and even attempting to feed the occasional fresh body until a medical check program reminded them that corpses do not need sustenance.
Shortly thereafter a disposal unit would arrive to remove the body and sanitate the immediate area.
    The main hall had been decorated with fancy illumination according to the personal whim of the man who had been the chief. Tiny flickering lights swivelled sparkling colours, gently, round glittered walls, with a complementary main light source originating in the floor; a reflection on the wealth of the age.
    The soft deep chairs were all empty. I settled into one of them.
    This is all mine! I thought to myself. All the beauty and fortunes of the world were mine. All the food and drink, all the visual entertainment, servants . . . .
    I quickly tired of the chair and the great hall, so I moved on into the City. The night life was waking, as it had done every dusk for a hundred years. The almost-silent clicks of flashing signs disturbed the air with their minute vibrations. As the sunset deepened, other sounds sprang out of the silence.  Mechanical vendors and various shades of music, interrupted occasionally by the warm hiss of the empty monorail cars swishing high over the moving walkway, halting at the rooftop stations and opening their empty doors, only to draw smoothly away again, still empty. The absence of the hubbub of human activity screamed at me, and I shut my mind to the futile noises that persistantly ground on and on, as I drifted into thought, and a cool wind touched me from behind.
    “This all belongs to you!” it whispered.
    Yes, they’ve left it all to little me. If only they knew. I replied to the breeze. All the wealth and riches. All the fortunes, all the space, all the emptiness, all the solitude, all the wasted world.
    This wonderful city, the tall and stately buildings, great leviathans towering their vacant magnificence above me, so small, on the stationary paved zone. Did they know they belonged to me, that I had become their master? The street led into beautiful gardens, created for the relaxation and pleasure of the people who had lived here; coloured lights on drooping willows and cascading waterfalls, but now the people had all gone. My only company was the spectre of memory, and the sad and crumpled bodies, huddled together for comfort in anticipation of death.
     So beautiful.
     So tragic.
     Perhaps I should have felt guilt as I entered the dimly lit living quarters. Small, empty and frozen in the cold moonlight. Who knows how long the two dead people in the bed spent, exposed to the chilly summer nights? I could hear all the little apartments calling to me,
    “We all belong to you!” Their blank stares of windows and open doors profoundly expressing their pointless existence. Great grey pillars of power in the distance, destined to function for centuries, giving light, sound and warmth to the empty land and the purposeless automatons.
    “But you know I have no use for you!” I cried out loud to the desolate grey shells that had once been homes, “I have everthing I need to live without all of you!” I shouted back at the cool wind, “It is such a waste, I don’t require any of this!” I stopped shouting.
The ideas had calmed me. I whispered to the two corpses in the bed, “I am laden with eggs, and there is plenty of food for thousands, no, millions of my children and their children for years to come.” The bad moment had passed and I remembered why I was here, and it pleased me.
    I flew over to the larger of the bodies to deposit my precious burden, one by one, and with no fear of disturbance I had time to carefully place them in the eyes, nostrils and around the open mouth. The destiny of the world was left to me; I and mine had inherited the Earth, with all its useless trinkets. Little me. Who could have predicted that?
    A little housefly.