The Day The Carpet Died - 1989

We used to have a lovely soft carpet that ran throughout the house, and one day my German Shepherd puppy decided to snack on it, ripping a huge swathe of it out of the living room floor, two feet wide and the length of the room.
Luckily, we were covered by a new-for-old insurance, so another lovely soft carpet was soon fitted as a replacement, again through the whole house.
When my youngest two were aged about four and two years old, they decided not to wake me up straight away one morning, and broke into a cupboard while I still slept, discovering, to their delight, a litre tin of black gloss paint hidden inside it.

I woke about half an hour later, to the sound of squeals and giggles from the happy little pair, and that sprang my defences immediately into action.
They were normally happy, but this was something more..... you know that feeling you get when something, somewhere, has gone horribly wrong.......

I caught a glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of several sweet little handprints perfectly placed on my bedroom wall, but ignored them, as they couldn't possibly be there, and my two babes could be in danger.
As I rushed out of my bedroom, I saw the sight.
Standing in the near-darkness of the upstairs hall was an apparition.
All I could make out were the few blond curls on the top of his head, and his big white eyes blinking at me. The rest of him was covered in black gloss from head to foot.
A small, black gloss cherub was frozen to the spot in my gaze.
Roxy quickly appeared behind him and she was daubed with small black handprints of two sizes above her completely black legs.
They were both terrified of my reaction and both instantly realised they'd done something I would not approve of.
I said, in a voice as menacing as I could muster,
"What HAVE you done?"
"I don't know!" - "Doh-know!"
To be honest, the sight of them was overpowering, and I popped my head back behind my bedroom door to stifle my laughs.
I wish there was photographic evidence, but the memory is enough to raise my smile, even 20-odd years later.
I didn't say another word to them, but grabbed my bottle of Polyclens (a paintbrush restorer), which I knew was okay on my own skin and put them straight into the bath to get the paint off as fast as possible.
I considered it was safer than leaving them painted, and I'd found white spirit burned me slightly.
Needless to say, I ran out, so when a friend visited and they were still greyish and in the bath, he ran up to town for me and brought back two more bottles.
It was Sunday, and "that was all they had", he'd said.
I splashed it onto them and Roxy started crying. It was hot!
Looking at the bottle, it wasn't Polyclens, but a version by another maker and it was going to burn their skin!
About an hour hour later I had washed them both clean, and they were looking pink and human again with no paint at all, so I left them in the bedroom in towels [still not speaking to them] and my friend and I inspected the rest of the damge.
Little black hand- and foot-prints on every step, all the way up the stairs; a two-year-old-Roxy-sized bum print on the built-in bunk bed [which I've kept]; handprints and smears all around the walls, just about everywhere in the kitchen had been daubed, but the "Pièce  de Résistance" was my lovely new carpet in the living room.
You wouldn't believe how far a litre of black gloss will spread when applied by Child-Roller!
I even found the screwdriver they had used to prise off the lid!
They had upturned the tin on the floor and Rikki had rolled through it like a little human roller, which is why I could only see the top of his head and his eyes. Roxy had sat in it and squished her legs around, so there were splashes of it spread far and wide.

They were completely unharmed by the paint, thankfully, and by the second cleaner, which rinsed straight off with the shower in the bath.

I did not even need to scold them. They knew exactly what they'd done wrong as soon as they'd seen me, and, as they'd got it out of their system there'd be no danger of a repetition. Their experiment was complete, and it was not a favourable result.

My silence was enough.
We used to have fun every day, but this day I was simply a carer, and they showed respect and didn't even expect mummy friend to play with and teach them new stuff after their little stunt. They watched me cut up my lovely new carpet and throw it away over the next few days. They also didn't like hurting my feelings.

The new carpet was NOT insured, and I have not been able to replace it to this day, but there were floor tiles underneath it anyway, and the true reason for my silence towards my little rascals, until they went to bed, was not anger, or even disappointment; I was quiet because I was trying so desperately hard NOT TO LAUGH!

Three of my favourite limericks:

1)
There once was a priest of Belgrave,
Who put a dead whore in a grave.
He said, full of lust,
"With a bit of a dust -
"Just think of the money I'll save!"
[Comedian Dave Allen, I think]

2)
Two ugly sisters from Fordham
Went out for a walk, till it bored 'em.
Then, on the way back
A sex maniac
Jumped out from a bush - and ignored 'em.
[Comedienne Pam Ayers]

3)
When Lady Penelope swoons
Her bosoms pop out like balloons.
Her butler stands by,
With a gleam in his eye,
And pops them back with warm spoons.
[Comedian Kenny Everett]

Cheese Toastie Monster - Monday 27th July 2009

[Posted first on Lazylaces last year]

My second daughter, Angie has given me a sandwich toaster.
Duly buying bread, olive spread and cheese, I set about creating the perfect toasted sandwich.
Then I remembered that about 20 years had elapsed since the only time I had ever used one.
I rang Angie - no answer - so I rang my son Rik. He kindly gave me a brief recap on how to use one, then I made my raw cheese sandwiches with sliced tiny tomatoes inside, and placed them into the toaster.
It was a bit of a struggle to get the clip shut on it, but, plugged-in and closed, the lights came on and it began to steam.
With white clouds billowing from the sides, an innocent and unsuspecting moth flew just above - and dropped stone dead on the other side. Then came the sizzling. A reassuring sound at first, but growing with intensity, as if to warn me to run. I stood my ground and watched as bubbles appeared at the sides, then cheese, then the whole thing seemed to erupt like a cheese volcano. Cheese and tomato juice were gushing out of it onto the counter, and I was deeply tempted to stop the whole process by unplugging it, frantically trying to consider whether it would be easier to clean up whilst still hot (and would I burn myself in the process?) or cold.
 There seemed to be more cheese coming out than I had originally put into the sandwich, but as I wrongly reasoned that perhaps the worst was already over, I decided to keep a healthy distance until the indicator light went off.
 The only thing missing was horror film anticipation music as I stood staring at it for a moment. I tapped the clip in case it was hot, then hooked my finger under it. It burst open dramatically, bread stuck firmly to each surface, flabby parts sagging sadly at the corners, cheese filaments drawn across between them and flopping down. The only sign that tomatoes had ever been involved were small draped shreds of skin embedded in the entrails.
  It was the "Toastie Maker Cheese Monster"; a gaping mouth with crusty teeth and wry, droopy lips, cheese drool strands clinging and dribbling down the sides, with wisps of atomised tomato for added fleshyness, the whole thing standing in a lake of what was supposed to have been the filling.

Taste Test: - I ate just one. I'm not a great fan of bread. It was like unusual toast which had been threatened with the idea of cheese. Tomato was not really part of the taste equation at all.

Things I learned from this....
i) don't use fat bread.
ii) use square bread.
iii) don't put too much cheese in.
and -
iv) let the battle area cool before cleaning.