Yesterday I began the task of stripping a set of windows, three in all and painting them. It seemed to take forever. Even with the help of Layabout lad it took ages. He wasn't particularly efficient and he has worse breathing problems than I do. After each stint of being up the ladder he came down panting and exhausted, after which he had to have a fag. As if inhaling smoke would somehow help his breathing and make him any better. More than ironic. During the day I saw a fox. A bloody big fox, run through the garden. It was timid and looked about as if he was on camera and was doing his best not to be photographed. Obviously this fox had a run in with the paparazzi. It must of been when he was on a date with Lady Gaga. Lucky young fox.
In the evening I had a good long hot soak in a bath, but I don't know why my muscles are still killing me. A text came through from Sparkling Eyes she to had just finished work and was exhausted. Ten straight hours with only a cup of tea to keep her going. She just so happened to be watching TV, it was a BBC documentary about whales and other large sea mammals. On her advice I quickly went to the web site and began to watch it as well. They were such wonderful giant graceful creatures. A little dingy boat when out to the sea at one point with sightseers on it. They were able to touch the whales, and tickle them. Sparkling said to me she wanted to tickle a whale, and we should go on holiday where she could tickle a whale, but it should not be Iceland. For Iceland was too cold. It had to be somewhere hot. The she said it had to be in a bigger boat then the one the people were in. Because it looked too small and like it was going to tip at any minute as tourists all pressed to one side in order for some whale tickling. I tried t explain they probably didn't have any bigger boats. It didn't matter, because Sparkling wanted to tickle whales and we were now in the throws of a conversation about my getting a passport and again if I didn't get it she would go without me. I was being well and truly warned and it was all my fault.
This morning during breakfast I let the cat out, or rather kicked him out with a tea towel as he is a reluctant outdoor cat. Five minutes later he came scampering in like he had seen a ghost. I went out to have a look and there running across the garages was a squirrel. And I don't have a shot gun. Just when you need one you don't have one. Mind I'm sure I would get carted away if I did have one and started waving it, quite rightly at vermin. What do I do? I'm sure he has got into the roof. And with our brick walls it's easy for a squirrel to go anywhere. They are like the James Bond of the vermin world. They can go anywhere they like. No wonder I haven't heard the magpies in a while. They must of moved on. I know they are the only bird I have seen to attack squirrels and drive them away. I just don't know what to do. There's no such thing as a squirrel trap, or is there. I'll have to do some research on them. See if there is something I can find out, some way to dissuade them. I suppose I could always hide their nuts. Ouch. Well it was an attempt at humour. Could be worse, I could show them I am nuts.
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