an irksome troll

dear readers, i am afraid i have had to enable comment moderation on my blog after all this time. this is due to a rather sad individual who has nothing better to do than write insulting drivel about my boy, something which, as i am sure you will all understand, herself will not countenance.

rest assured, your comments will appear eventually, when i can manage to get herself to approve them, so keep writing.

a learning curve

relax dear readers! my boy has not ended up in jail! this picture was taken in the equine unit at college where he went for a taster day. or in fact two taster days and an interview. to explain how this came about i will need to backtrack, so you may want to get a pen and paper and take notes.

regular readers will remember that in january of this year my boy's fear had reached such proportions that he was not going out of the house. since going to school not only required going out of the house but also a car journey of well over an hour each way, his education ground to a halt. in the intervening months a number of potential options were discussed for keeping my boy off his computer and getting him educated. each came to nothing. the most recent was a local school for artistic young people that has been set up by a charity. this place would have been ideal. but there was the small question of persuading the local irritation authority to pay for it. and what do you know? the ever helpful lady at the local irritation authority said they would not because the new school did not have some sort of registration number from the government. this is because the number takes a couple of weeks to come through, so by the time the money was being paid the school would be properly numbered.

by this stage herself was getting a little frustrated. my boy had been out of school for 6 months and the only input from the local irritation authority had been to threaten to take the peeps to court. then a friend who lives nearby and who has an artistic daughter suggested a college up the road where they teach stuff about the countryside. this had not occurred to the peeps because my boy is not yet 16, but the college takes younger folks than this on a special course.

this week was the taster days and the interview. my boy has known about these for some time and was, on the face of it, looking forward to them. that is until the time came on saturday to buy the boots that he needed to wear to stop his feet getting busted by heavy things.

"i can't do this!" he wailed.

"you can do this." said herself firmly. there followed a stand-off for about 3 hours while my boy threw a major wobbly and the peeps continued with their efforts to get him out of the house. by 12 o'clock he had weakened and we went for a walk to the local park. to do this he had to get dressed, which was part of the peeps' fiendish plan. when they got back they persuaded him into the car and off they went, returning shortly afterwards with some very sturdy boots.

the first taster day was on monday and was blacksmithing. herself had prepared my boy down to the last minute as to what they were going to do in the morning. things went to plan until they were in the car.

"i don't think i can do this!" wailed my boy, looking pale.

"remember the boots?" said herself, "this will be the same."

all the way there my boy fussed about how impossible it was. at one point he curled up in a ball and started shaking. herself by all accounts found this a bit hard to ignore, but it is so important that my boy gets out into the world that she gritted her teeth and drove on. soon they were there.

the first bit involved a talk in a room where there were a large number of chairs laid out. my boy went even paler. herself walked purposefully towards the back and sat down. my boy reluctantly sat beside her, muttering out of the corner of his mouth like a gangster. as the room filled up my boy became more vocal.

"get me out of here!" he growled.

"no." said herself. there followed a whispered exchange worthy of a courtroom. eventually the man in charge appeared and explained what was going to happen. then various people came to the front of the room to collect their victims.

"no way can i do this!" growled my boy. herself ignored him. "you sure know how to make me suffer!" he continued, "i thought you loved me."

"i do," said herself, that's why i don't want you to spend your whole life in a darkened room playing computer games." with which she marched off after the man who had come to collect the blacksmithing people.

when they got to the forge my boy tried to take herself to one side to continue with his protestations. herself is a wily old bird and made for the middle of the workshop where the man in charge was demonstrating how to measure a length of metal. the man was called dave, which in my book gives him a head start. one of the peeps' friends has known a couple of not very nice daves but in our house the name has only positive connotations. it became clear that they were going to make a poker. once this was explained my boy should have thrown in the towel and got on with it. the peeps need a decent poker. they have a very large poker that would be more suitable for a baronial hall but which is unusable in the little fireplace in our house, so they shuffle the fire around with salad tongs.

"it's great you are going to make me a poker!" she said. my boy must have seen the writing on the wall. once herself has an idea she is not easily shifted from it. the day ran on. my boy fussed. herself was tough. eventually the poker was finished and they left, very hot but triumphant.

the next visit to college was on wednesday. this was for the interview for the course that my boy is hoping to go on. herself had prepared him in minute detail about what was going to happen. my boy had written a piece about why he wanted to go to this college and what he hoped to get out of it. more accurately my boy had dictated and herself had typed it. although my boy can type, he cannot type and think at the same time. there was a certain amount of kerfuffle about trousers the previous evening, which i will gloss over in the interests of brevity.

somehow monday's experience had not had any impact on my boy's psyche. 10am found him curled up in a ball in bed. herself did the cheery thing for about an hour, sounding less cheery as it failed to work. eventually my boy was persuaded out of bed.

"don't come near me!" he wailed, "i can't do this!" herself heaved a large sigh and carefully explained that not only could he do this, but that he was definitely going to do this.

"you can't make me! go away!" my boy presented an interesting sight as he said this. in one arm he was clutching bertha the bear, who has been with him all his life. in the other arm he was waving a full size replica machine gun.

"i will make you," said herself firmly, "this is too important for you to dip out of it. you need to get dressed." i have to say it was not clear to me how she was proposing to make a 5' 10" teenager do anything. the days of picking my boy up under one arm and carrying him out to the car are long gone.

herself got on the phone to himself. himself, true to form, did not answer his phone. then herself had an inspired idea. mrs snake charmer was off work for the week. when herself rang her she was cleaning her oven. she promised to be here in 10 minutes. herself told my boy that if he did not get dressed she and mrs snake charmer would dress him. mrs snake charmer used to play rugby and is very strong. my boy decided it might be prudent to get dressed himself, but continued to mutter throughout. herself went into the garden to cool down and spied mrs next door over the fence. as soon as mrs next door heard what was going on she offered to come round too.

mrs snake charmer arrived and the kettle was put on. my boy made an appearance, dressed at last, but still refusing to leave the house. at this point mrs next door arrived. mrs next door is a person of small stature, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in charm and strength of character. my boy opened the door.

"thank goodness you're here! she has got [mrs snake charmer] round to bully me!" (dear readers, i am under strict instructions not to use anyone's real name, in order to prevent embarrassment to the peeps' friends). mrs next door did not like to say that she had come round for a similar purpose.

by now my boy was starting to realise that his recalcitrance was unlikely to succeed. faced with three determined menopausal ladies he had to admit defeat. he decided to try another tack and lit an incense cone. the ladies exchanged glances. young dave and i exchanged glances. but all was well. he was simply making some magic smoke. he came in with a test tube full of smoke. when he took out the bung the smoke wafted round the room, making a smell reminiscent of an eastern bazaar.

"i'll take some magic smoke to the interview!" he said, "that will relax me." he was dissuaded from this plan and it was explained that this might look rather eccentric and might also set off the sprinklers at the college. i could only agree. while it is always good to make an impression, one has to be careful what sort of impression one makes.

it was soon time to leave. mrs snake charmer agreed to come along to the college in case of last minute wobbles. she was glad she did as she collected a large amount of literature about interesting courses for mr snake charmer and himself to go on. one course was about smoking. her maamship later pointed out it might not be wise to send my boy to a college where they teach you how to smoke, but it appears this is not that sort of smoking.

anyway, i digress. suffice to say that the interview was a success and my boy was offered a place on the course, starting in september. he just had to get through the taster day on thursday. one the way home herself made it clear that if there was a repeat of that morning she would call in her friends again.

"you always get your hoard of menopausal women to bully me," said my boy. herself pointed out that menopausal women strike terror into the heart of most men and that she quite liked the idea of being part of a hoard. readers, beware the Hoard of Menopausal Women...

summer fun and games

dear readers, i must yet again apologise for the dearth of musings. the peeps have been distracted by a number of things so i have been without a scribe. the distractions have taken the form of a horse, a party and my boy.

the horse is one that herself has been riding. he lives in a yard in the country near here and herself has arranged with the man who looks after him and his fellow horses that she helps out a bit in the stables and in return gets to ride round the countryside. unfortunately young dave and i are not allowed to go riding with her so i have only seen photos of the horse. here you can see his nose.


he is by all accounts a large brown and white horse with shaggy feet and a friendly nature. the man who looks after him is someone who does raking at the place where herself had her raking treatment. he also does raking on the horses which seems to make for a calm and friendly crowd, in spite of several of them being rather important in the horse world.

as well as horsing around, herself has been partying. herself reached the grand age of 50 in april, 6 weeks after her maamship had achieved the same. they decided to have a party, as between them they had accumulated a century. the party was in a field behind a pub and many of the guests camped. a collection of cooking appliances were gathered together and himself and mr snake charmer were placed at strategic points among them with instructions to feed the guests. her maamship and my boy concocted some delicious looking kebabs (i cannot vouch for how they tasted as, in spite of several attempts, i was unable to liberate one). wonderful music was provided by a young and very talented clarinetist and some older but equally talented guitarists, one of whom was a member of the judiciary. a harmonica also made an appearance later in the evening.

the highlight of the evening from herself's point of view was a performance of her very own song. this song was written by the young snake charmer and has been developed over some months. the song was accompanied by a puppet performance on a stage which the young snake charmer made. the characters were some rather brilliant drawings of herself, himself, my boy, young dave and me, all cut out and made into puppets. the snake charmers made a film of the song which, if herself has got the technology right, should appear below. but in case my readers are unable to make it work, here are some pictures of the main characters:



yours truly - aka man in a dog suit




young dave - complete with air of puzzlement




many of the references in the film will escape those who are not familiar with the day to day detail of the peeps' lives. the chives are some plants in our garden which my boy has decided calm him down when munched. this is known as 'getting chived up'. my boy gets chived up before stressful events such as his smiths lesson with mr snake charmer.

the reference to 'teabagging' is to a rather clever deterrent which herself invented to stop my boy coming out with some of his more outrageous sexist comments. it involves the placing of a cold wet teabag down the back of the neck. should the sexism continue, a sound pat on the back is delivered, bursting the teabag and leaving cold wet tea inside the sexist's tea-shirt. needless to say this has only had to be done once; the mere mention of teabagging now has my boy turning from an unreconstructed caveman into a fluffy liberal feminist.

herself and her maamship had foreseen that the partygoers might find the evening chilly as night fell, in spite of it being midsummer. some while before the party they decided that what was needed was a firepit. many hours were spent scouring ebay for a firepit but all were exhorbitantly expensive. so herself decided to manufacture one from a dustbin lid. now you would think that this would be an easy item to find. but no. you can only buy dustbin lids if you buy a whole dustbin. and no one round here has a metal dustbin any more due to the advent of wheely bins.

luckily herself works for the local authority. she got on the blower to the man in charge of rubbish collection. he said that they only had wheely bins but that herself was in luck as some local flytippers had been dumping rubbish in dustbins which were going to be picked up that very day. herself shares her office with a lady called miss shell. when she related the saga of the dustbins, miss shell very sensibly advised her to take a photograph or two before drilling holes in them in case they became exhibits in a court case. the following day herself shot off to the depot to collect them, but it turned out that they were still at the scene of the crime. in the end some other bin lids were found which avoided the problem of evidence being destroyed by a member of the legal department.

the firepit was a great success as you can see here:


the partying went on until 3am. there were some rather sore heads the following day.

you may recall at the beginning of this long and rambling missive that i said there were 3 things that had been occupying the peeps, the third being my boy. i will tell you about my boy in my next missive, otherwise this will turn into a novel...

joker the lurcher? never heard of him!

readers, you may wonder why i am in disguise. well it seems that the anonymity of the blog world is about to be removed. a newspaper has decided that, while it is perfectly acceptable to keep the identity of people who give its reporters information private, it is somehow in the public interest to expose the identity of those of us bloggers who tell the world about things.

i suppose it all comes down to cutting out the middleman. if people can just log onto a blog and read about how it is, why would they bother buying a newspaper? so the newspaper is out to close down blogs so it can keep its share of the market in telling people about things. at least that is my take on it. but then what would i know? i am only a humble lurcher after all.

well i for one will never set a paw on the newspaper in question ever again. as herself is fond of saying about persons she has no time for, i wouldn't piss on it if it was on fire. in fact, i especially wouldn't piss on it if it was on fire...

more than my job's worth

well, dear readers, it seems herself is not destined for greater things on the job front. yesterday was the big day of her interview for a full time job. the day started well with a foot pampering with a nice lady, who gave herself a complimentary foot file. herself said it would be nice to have a file which gave her compliments. most of her files give her a headache.

herself then had to print off her presentation for the interview. she has been trying to buy printer cartridges for the past 2 weeks but everywhere under the sun seems to have sold out. the lack of ink may explain why the printer was so cheap in the first place. herself only bought this one because it was cheaper than buying new cartridges for the old one. how mad is that? so she had to go next door to print out the stuff there. luckily the next doors are more organised on the printer front and after a tussle with leads and memory chips it was done.

just as herself was reading over the presentation her glasses snapped. these are the pair of reading glasses that she bought to replace the pairs that young dave ate. so she was reduced to the previous chewed pair, which do not stay on her nose without holding them.

himself ironed her shirt for her and then she was off. the weather is really hot here and she was melting almost immediately. by the time they called her in for the interview she was glowing. but worse was to come. the interview was in a room which was hot enough to melt bread. the glasses had no hope of staying on her face, even with help. herself gamely made a start on her presentation. it was about teams. the first slide had a picture of ants on it, carrying a piece of bread. this was to illustrate how teams have to pull together.

"ants - they are the bane of my life!" said one of the panel members. herself was grateful that she had not included any pictures of snakes. "don't worry," she said, "these ants are in portugal!" given the ants were photographed a couple of years ago they are unlikely to still be alive but who am i to quibble.

the next slides caused a certain amount of puzzlement. there was a picture of a lemon among tomatoes and then of a pile of eggs. then a mouse eating peanuts out of a bird feeder. this was to illustrate challenges. it was not immediately obvious why this was the case so herself explained that the birdfeeder was 6 feet off the ground and the little mouse had gone up and down the pole about 30 times fetching a peanut each time. as herself had only 10 minutes to do the presentation she had to speed up a bit after this diversion. she galloped to the home straight and rounded off with what should have been a neat little ending, summarising what she hopes are her best qualities as a leader.

then it was on to the questions from the panel. at this point things started to unravel. herself was flustered and hot and bothered and found quite a lot of the questions unintelligible. those she understood she answered in a way that had the panel frowning. one question she had to ask the bloke to repeat twice. it quickly became apparent that this was not the job for her and she was most certainly not the person for them. but the panel soldiered on with ever more complicated and opaque questions. herself began to wish the fire alarm would go off and put them all out of their misery.

eventually the questions were over. but then there was all the stuff about terms and conditions. there was no way that they needed to tell her this, given they would have to have had their fingers in their ears to have gained a positive impression. herself finally escaped and wended her way home, feeling rather flat.

it was not until she was sitting in the garden with young dave and i that it dawned on her what a lucky escape she had had. working full time would put an end to all the lovely mooching about time that we all enjoy so much. so herself has asked her boss if there are any more hours that could be tacked onto her current job. i hope there are. the old bird is quite good company really.

we are family

dear readers, the peeps have started their family therapy sessions. they were originally referred for family therapy when things were rather more fraught on the domestic front but as there is quite a waiting list it has only just started. the sessions are held at the clinic for sad, fearful and deranged young people, where my boy goes to see his psychiatrist.

the peeps were slightly nervous at the prospect of family life being put under the microscope. as regular readers will know, the peeps are a little on the eccentric side. but they need not have been concerned. the sessions are with a very nice man called dr roger. as well as him, there are some ladies who sit in the room next door and watch what is going on via a video link. dr roger has a little earpiece which the ladies use to cheer him on. there is a one way mirror as well, through which the ladies can peer into the room.

young dave and i were not allowed to go to family therapy. this is because it is held in part of the hospital and there is a risk of germs. young dave and i are very careful about germs, as regular readers will know. but the peeps were very enthusiastic when they returned, so we very quickly learned what happened.

it seems that it was quite some way into the session before dr roger realised that he was only seeing part of the family. he discovered this when he asked what my boy did when he was stressed about something. my boy said that he came and sat with me and young dave as we were very calming. i am not sure i would concur that young dave is calming but i will gloss over this. dr roger asked my boy to tell him about us.

"well joker is 11 years old and is very wise, a bit like gandalf," he said, "and dave is nearly a year old and is all floppy and chaotic. joker is the sanest member of the family."

dr roger turned to the peeps and asked them if they agreed with my boy's view. both peeps nodded vigorously. herself even went as far as to say that i was the only sane member of the family, a statement which himself and my boy wholeheartedly agreed with. to be frank they could not really fail to concur. dr roger said that he was not sure about the policy of the clinic for sad, fearful and deranged young people as far as dogs coming to family therapy. i think it may have been a first for him.

i think it is probably best if we don't go. once young dave was introduced into the proceedings things would very quickly start to unravel...

my kingdom for a horse...

dear readers, as you know herself has stolen my boy's therapist. the therapist is called claudia and is a very nice person. i know this because i went to visit her to make sure the peeps were safe in her hands. one question that claudia asks herself on a regular basis is "what are you going to do for yourself?"

herself has been brooding on this for a while. she does quite a lot for herself in some ways, including spending many happy hours laptopping. but i think what claudia has in mind is other things. so herself, in typical fashion, has wholeheartedly leaped into doing things for herself (as it were).

first she had a massage. this was with a lady who does raking. i think this means that as well as pummeling the muscles she also rakes her victims to get rid of all the knots. herself came back looking slightly dazed, having booked more raking for a couple of weeks time.

then she booked a foot overhaul. the feet are well overdue a bit of fuss. an orbital sander would be needed to make them soft and smooth. and the massage lady had commented on their general roughness. which, given how rough herself is, has to be saying something.

then she booked a blood test to see if she has any kolesterol. i would be most surprised if she does not have kolesterol, as it appears to be found in butter and cheese, and herself is largely composed of butter and cheese, with layers of pasta and spinach and red wine. in fact she is a little bit like a lasagne.

then, after a cyberchat about riding horses, herself decided to try and find a horse that needs riding, preferably by a large heavy lady. herself used to ride a horse where we lived before. this was a strong and positive horse, and riding her was like a workout in the gym, but herself loved it and came back glowing. she was sad when it stopped due to the horse's owner getting a new enthusiasm for the saddle.

but help was at hand. the internet is a marvellous place. herself found a local person who wants to find a horse to ride too. through a convoluted chain of events, herself has found a horse that needs to get out more. it appears that this too is a lively sort of horse and may need a firm hand. herself was cheerfully telling my boy and himself of this development. himself was chuffed to bits. this morning herself was looking at adverts for horses that needed a home, which had himself looking very pale. himself clearly felt that just riding one was tame by comparison. i have to agree. we have a very small house. the thought of sharing our sofas with something as large as a horse filled me with dread.

my boy roared with laughter at the prospect of the riding arrangement.

"you might as well write the letter now," he giggled, "it will be just like kinky". (herself has had to give up walking kinky the dalmation as her escaping tendencies were too much for her nerves). "dear mrs bewilderforce, i am sorry but i am not going to be able to ride your horse any more because it keeps running off. yours sincerely, etc."

the peeps found this most amusing. the idea of anyone being called mrs bewilderforce in itself was humorous. conversation turned to the horse that herself used to ride.

"don't you remember," said my boy, "they had that daughter who was going to grow up to be a prostitute."

herself sat open-mouthed.

"why on earth do you think she was going to become a prostitute?" she asked. "she was only 6 years old!"

"she was called samantha." said my boy, as though this explained everything.

dear readers, take care when you name your children...

a lidl of what you fancy

dear readers, himself is a happy man. yesterday he had bacon for breakfast for the first time in ages. there has been a hiatus in the bacon supply. or what the legal profession calls a lacuna. this sorry state of affairs has resulted from herself having been without her big shopping buddy. mr next door generally accompanies herself to lidl, which as regular readers will know is where the peeps do their shopping. he is the perfect shopping buddy. he knows a bargain when he sees one, unlike herself, who is what is known as an inexperienced shopper. this is not from lack of practice but from lack of attention to detail.

in some shops there is a type of special offer called 'buy one, get one free', or bogof'. herself is in the habit of buying only one of such items. this would not be so bad if the one she bought was the free one but she inevitably buys the one you have to pay for and forgets the free one. lidl does not tend to have these sort of offers. i suppose it is so cheap that if they knocked any more off the price they would be paying you to shop there. but they do have great reductions on vegetables and all sorts of other things. i am not a great one for vegetables myself but the peeps seem to enjoy them. the problem with herself is that she has a great fear of numbers. this makes her very poor indeed at noticing the signs that tell you about the bargains.

mr next door has been under the weather lately so herself has had to shop alone. she has missed her big shopping buddy. as she does not eat meat she has no idea what sort of bacon to choose, or indeed what sort of chops or anything fleshy, so she leaves well alone. himself has had to content himself with the vegetarian breakfast option of fried eggs on cheese on toast. this is just as full of calories but without the meaty flavour that himself loves. young dave and i love it too as there tend to be juices that get poured over our grub on bacon days.

mr next door, while still a bit wobbly, is now available for shopping buddy duty. my boy was also roped in to help carry stuff. all went well on the way round the shop. bacon was found, vegetable bargains and all manner of goodies. herself and my boy were just starting to unload things onto the conveyor belt when mr next door was accosted by a man with an unintelligible accent. from what herself could understand he was from south africa and was the owner of a fertiliser company. herself's grandmother was from south africa so you would think that the accent would not have caused a problem, but this man was something else in the incoherence stakes.

herself watched aghast as mr next door was drawn into a very long and convoluted conversation about the state of the world economy, the decay of the british banking system, the gold standard, the history of south africa, how to cook various dishes, the best method of fertiliser manufacture and no doubt much else of great import.

my boy by now was needing to get out of the supermarket. his tolerance for the beeping tills is fairly low at the best of times but the 'being accosted by strangers' thing set off his fear. he started pulling at his hair and generally looking pale. herself decided drastic action was needed and called across to mr next door, while pointing at my boy. the unintelligible stranger saw the expression on herself's face. after letting out a deafening bellow of a laugh he said to mr next door,

"looks like your wife is trying to get your attention!" all the people in all the queues looked around in the hope of having a diversion in the form of a domestic dispute. mr next door is an imposing figure at the best of times and coupled with the unintelligible stranger and an agitated lady the scenario had the makings of a fun time.

"oh, no, she's not my wife," said mr next door, with scant regard for volume control, "my wife's at home. but don't tell anyone!"

herself could see her morals were becoming slightly frayed in the eyes of her fellow shoppers.

"he's my next door neighbour," she explained. the disapproving looks became, if anything, slightly more disapproving.

"let's get out of here," said my boy, through gritted teeth. he was clearly not relishing the idea of the question of his paternity coming up.

in the car my boy said that he thought the unintelligible stranger was making up the bit about owning a fertiliser company.

"he drives too crappy a car to be the owner of a factory. its an old peugot 106."

"maybe he keeps the cadillac in america," suggested mr next door. my boy folded his arms and wiggled both hands. herself asked if he was ok. my boy has many nervous twitches, although this was a new one.

"its the international sign for bullshit." said my boy, showing her the horns and the other end.

i suppose that is one sort of fertiliser...

this is the bbc

here is a picture of my boy doing a passable impression of a 1950s tennis umpire. why, you may ask, did that occur to him? i am not sure. it all started with the smiths lesson, which, as regular readers will recall, is delivered twice a week by mr snake charmer. as the young snake charmer needs an eye kept on her after school she comes along too.

smiths went well. when it was time to go, the young snake charmer wanted to stay a bit longer. she and my boy were in the middle of building some rather odd things out of wood. mrs snake charmer was at the golf course being given an award for hitting a thing called a hole in one a few weeks ago. this is apparently something of a feat in golfing circles. it does not involve hitting the holes but rather hitting a ball down the hole.

mr snake charmer and himself said they were going to pop down to the off licence to buy some beers. something about the look in himself's eye led herself to believe that they may have planned to pop into the pub on the way past. herself was not keen on being the only adult in the house when my boy and the young snake charmer were in full creative flow, particularly if the other adults in question were away for some time, so everyone accompanied them to the off licence, just to be on the safe side. mr snake charmer said that herself was demonstrating a lamentably suspicious streak. herself said that life had made her that way. on the way back herself said that, while they must have cut something of a funny sight, at least the outing made for good blog fodder.

safely back at home, the peeps, or more accurately himself, set about making curry. by now mrs snake charmer had tracked down the missing members of her family and was on her way round, with her golfing trophy. the evening was beginning to turn into something of a celebration. there were a number of things to celebrate. herself has been offered an interview for a job that would help considerably with the peeps' financial ruin. himself has been offered more hours at work. then there was the golf trophy. and last but by no means least, was that herself had finally got the results of the tests on the chew-mer on young dave's elbow. the chew-mer could have been several things, one of which would not have been good. but it is a nice type of chew-mer which should go away on its own. if it doesn't take the hint young dave will have to have a little op. but at least young dave is not poorly.

anyway, due to the air of celebration, my boy decided to get out the ladder and do an impression of a 1950s tennis umpire. i am not sure where this came from but it was very funny. he started to speak in a posh voice, with very clipped tones and began by saying that this was the british broadcasting corporation and that the score was 17 - 7. the main reason for this particular score was that he has a rather amusing way of saying 'seven' which he acquired from a tv programme and which he likes to use wherever humanly possible. it was pointed out that tennis is not scored in this way but has scores that are rounded up to the nearest 10, or 5, but my boy persisted in commentating on the imaginary match with scores that included the number 7 to great amusement all round.

then the young snake charmer took over the ladder and started to do impressions of the angel of the north statue. here is a picture of one of them.


at last it was time to eat. by this time young dave and i were worn out. we were very pleased to see the tools put away too. while young dave is partial to munching a bit of sandpaper, we both find the hammering interferes with our sleep. i just hope the young folk don't get into sculpture...

a word in your ear

dear readers, here you have an action shot. it is not immediately obvious what the action is but believe me, a lot of action was involved. yesterday, herself was just putting away the hoover, after cleaning up the chaos caused by her re-covering my chair and mending our dogbed again, when the phone rang. it was himself.

"i'm in the pub," he said, "do you want to come and join us?" it appeared that himself and mr snake-charmer had been so exhausted after running after-school football club at the school where they work that they could not quite make it home and had to seek refuge in the local hostelry. with them was the young snake-charmer, still in her school uniform. herself and my boy did not need asking twice. herself had quite a thirst after all her exertions with the dogbed and my boy is great friends with mr snake-charmer, who laughs at his often rather opaque jokes.

the pub in question is one which allows dogs, but young dave is under-age so we agreed to stay home and try out the new furnishings. however, as always, the peeps filled us in when they returned. no sooner had herself and my boys been furnished with drinks than my boy started causing strife.

"i'm going to count how many words there are on this beer mat," he announced. the beer mat in question had quite a lot of words as it was telling people not to drink and drive. why anyone would think it was a good idea to get behind the wheel of a car after ingesting a substance that makes the room go round is beyond me, but i digress. within minutes everyone round the table (with the exception of herself, who cannot count, so photographed it instead) was arguing about how many words there were on the beer mats. mr snake-charmer is my boy's smiths teacher so he has a certain authority in the field of numbers. but it soon transpired that my boy was playing a prank.

"my devillish plan worked!" he said, triumphantly. you have to admire him. within 30 seconds he had everyone round the table counting the words on the beermats. and this was before drink had been taken.

herself, fearing all-out war, changed the subject by telling the snake-charmers about paneity. this did nothing to calm things down. mr snake-charmer felt that if someone were to find themselves turned into a loaf of bread, the last thing they would be doing would be contemplating the nature of breadness. herself tried to explain that it was a philosophical concept but was drowned out by the assembled crew discussing what they would do if they were suddenly enbreaded. views ranged from accepting the situation with good grace, and embracing one's fate, to finding someone to eat you and put you out of your misery. mr snake-charmer, in spite of his initial scepticism, could not resist contemplating different categories of breadness, and even did a rather wonderful impression of a miserable sweaty white loaf in a plastic bag on the shelf of a happy shopper store.

seeing that discussing breadness was not helping, herself changed the subject again by hooking out her notebook, where she had fortuitously asked the young pirate to write down some other wonderful words.

"how about sesquipedilian?" she asked. it transpires that this is a long word meaning long word. at least i think that is what it means. my lurcher brain was not really designed for abstract thought. my boy seemed to think it meant foot-and-a-half-long.

"or petrichor?" piped up herself. this word i like. it means the smell of the earth after rain. i like this smell. it usually means a walk is in the offing.

alas, a walk was not in the offing when the peeps returned. the rain was so torrential that even young dave and i did not fancy venturing out in it. but today i am looking forward to sniffing a bit of petrichor...