the staircase, teetering on the edge of a step I noticed I had managed to get the cable nicely looped around both my ankles, at which point it struck me this was a very dangerous position to be in. I could easily trip myself up, fall backwards and break my neck; I may not be found for hours. Then I imagined what might happen when my cold cadaver is discovered by my poor unfortunate husband; there’s me bottom of the stairs, on my back, neck broke, blood pooling out of my one ear wearing David Moody’s ‘Hater’ t-shirt, my lovely red and black leopard print pj bottoms (which are far too gorgeous to be worn as pj’s), finger and toe nails beautifully manicured and painted a tantalising poppy red (with polka dots on the ring fingers) and to top off this tragic image, unkempt hair and no make-up. That’s right, no make-up. As you can imagine, the thought of being found in such a way by my husband, and then ambulance paramedics, police – the whole entourage of emergency services to deal with my unfortunate turn of events would be viewing me au-natural. Well, that was it, the horror… I shook the cable free from my left ankle and ended up in a bit of a fight getting my right ankle free, but I managed, then ran straight upstairs to the bedroom and got out the Estee Lauder. There is no way on this earth I’m going to the morgue, and in headlines, with no make-up. I tidied my hair into reverse victory rolls at the front, pinned at the back, then tied a scarf around it to keep it all in place. Looking in the mirror placed on my window ledge I began applying my make-up. Halfway through the liquid eyeliner, something caught my eye dropping from the heavens… I leaned forward to see what it might be as my chickens ran to it and, low and behold, a slice of burned toast was on my patio surrounded by the girls giving it a good telling off for dropping in like that. Normally they would have eaten it, but not being presented by myself, this foreign piece of burned offerings was not welcome at all. How odd though, toast from the heavens. I’ve heard of manna but definitely not burned toast. Anyhow, make-up complete I was all ready for my tragic accident and continued with the stairs, only to find my untimely death was not meant to happen there. I then attempted to cart a couple of dining chairs up for my husband to later move to the loft. I strategically placed them (blocking doorways) for him to have to physically move them to get where he needed to be as, thus far, three weeks of asking
him to put them away resulted in nothing but me getting a hoarse throat and him more stubborn. After sorting the chairs I got my paint pots out, cleared all the walls of the kitchen, rubbed down and got painting… of course half way through there was more paint on me and the floor than the walls, and my husband, on fearing we may never get out the house to go to the cinema, decided to join me and picked up a paintbrush. Being a woman I had to point out his coverage of the walls was not as good as mine, at which point I got told he would now only paint left handed to annoy me (he’s right handed). Anyway, job done other than fiddly bits, and off we went to the cinema… I didn’t get any dinner before we left so I insisted on something more substantial than overpriced popcorn, I opted for a nice 12 inches of overpriced sausage. I must admit it was the tastiest hotdog I’ve had in sometime, although considering my level of hunger I would have probably thought pre-licked Pringles or stale soggy crackers the tastiest thing on the planet. The film, Iron Man 3, was awesome and certainly not a disappointment. I love the Tony Stark character and the delectable Robert Downey Jnr was just brilliant as
always, along with Ben Kingsley who was super. After the film we went to
pick up our son from the grandparents and had a natter followed by a rather late
drive home, popped Phoenix to bed to then be terrified by the chickens making an
almighty kafuffle, I ran to the patio doors to discover Ginger chasing Launchpad round the garden, to the point the poor thing was so terrified she hid the back of one of the old rabbit hutches. I had to rescue her. Ginger was literally thrown into the house through the window as I checked over my poor hen, I stomped back into the house and gave the Ginger menace a good talking to. He is now on lockdown till the girls are in bed. If he persists in his antisocial behaviour I shall have him released on tag ( or get him a collar with the biggest bell I can find) otherwise I’m not sure what to do. This will require more thought, observation and possibly a large water pistol – chicken attack = water torcher. Watch this space. Now, if you excuse me, I’m about to raid the fridge; my cinema hot dog has long since been digested and of course I’m famished again. No idea what’s wrong with me; this last fortnight I’ve eaten like it’s my last supper… if it was, I’d still have great make-up.
Good night darlings.