Creepy & Crawly

My dresser is beginning to take shape. Although, I have spent more time applying white spirit to my paint-encrusted hands and dabbing at splotches on my clothes (Good clothes. Why don’t I take the trouble to put on old clothes? I know I’m clumsy) than I have actually applying paint to the wood.

Other projects this week have included scarecrow-making for a village fete this sunday. This is a major event in the village calendar! The usual english small country village affair: open gardens, jumble sale, tea & cakes, etc. A dog show has been added this year, and I am planning to enter Maddie & Tebbit into the Oddest Pair category. If they aren’t placed, I’m totally cow-patting the judges. John merely commented that if they didn’t win, he would be most interested to see the pair that did.

The scarecrows are back by popular demand, as the village had a competition for the best one some years ago, which was surprisingly good fun. John and I were monstrously pissed off that ours were overlooked: the judge never even saw them. John had made superman and dangled him off the church tower, and I had made a belly dancer and sheik. Shoulda won. Bah! Anyhoo, I have reprised my idea this year and am making another dancer. I am even re-using the head from the old one that John found lurking in a dark corner of the barn. I shall treat you to pictures later in the week; I know you’re all agog. I have also stuffed some of Harry’s prem baby clothes with plastic bags, and given them cartoon heads. I had in mind a jolly Babies Picnic-type affair, but they just ended up looking darkly macabre. Don’t think they’re a winner, myself.

What else has happened? Oh yes, I sat on my old couch and it collapsed. Strange that this should come after the Ann-must-diet post; it’s the sort of thing that could be a catalyst! I was sat perfectly still and demurely, drinking my coffee, minding my own business and chatting to two visiting friends, when I felt a peculiar pop underneath my left buttock. Rapidly followed by a sinking sensation. My right buttock was soon keen to join the general descent, and before I could utter a word, my bottom had gently crash-landed on the floor and my knees were either side of my nose. I was still clutching my cup.

My friends would doubtless have rescued me from my predicament sooner, had they not been incapacitated by some major-league laughing. Come to that, I could easily have wriggled free myself, but my tummy hurt so much from laughing that it just seemed easier to stay where I was until it left my system.

I was going to tell you about Harry falling 18 inches out of his pushchair onto a stone floor, but he was miraculously unhurt and I still feel sick with guilt and teary when I think about it, so I’ll not bother. I’ll just mention, casually, that he has learnt to crawl since the weekend. My baby! Crawling! What an over-achiever!

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