Another street, another wall, another artist, another mural…

Thanks to Geoff, my correspondent in Teignmouth.

The Royal Navy comes to the rescue!

I am rather proud to have come from a land which boasts strange beautiful birds like kookaburras; and a host of marsupials such as kangaroos, wallabies, koalas and possums; and odd reptiles, including the frilly lizard. I see that many other people share my pride – just look at some of the murals I have come across in my neighbourhood…

This email came in from Chris this morning. The photographs made me feel sick to my stomach.

Thought your blog followers might like to see the latest battering up at
dere ol’ Dawlish; it’s horrendous at the moment, quite as bad as the
“night to remember”, and I just hope there’s no more damage – still an
hour to go till high tide, and the wind’s gusting 90 mph, and coming
full on to San Remo!    Oooooo..errrrr!  The windows are rattling – yes,
even our double glazing rattles under extreme pressure – and, sadly,
there is now a bit of damp coming though downstairs in our bedroom, only
showing as damp patches on the ceiling.  I’m proud to say that my
special patent irrigation system I set up originally, consisting of a
large plastic funnel, lots of polythene, and a big bucket, all in the
cupboard above my side of the bed,  is working!  Water is clearly
gathering and dripping into the bucket !  Nice to know my idea worked,
but obviously there must be other places where the damp is getting
though for the patches to be there.  Oh, well. I expect a hosepipe ban
next week!  Hopefully by the time you open this, the maelstrom will have
abated somewhat. Not too sure about shopping with your Mum in the
morning, though.

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They went shopping.

I was in the huge Hyperdome shopping mall when I noticed a “Choice” discount shop (one of those shops that sells anything and everything at low prices); in fact I was just about to walk past the store when I had the thought:

“I wonder if they have any pretty (but cheap) serviettes?”

You may think that was a funny thought, but perhaps you aren’t house-sitting like me. If you were, you might realise that a conscientious house-sitter does not use up the owners’ serviettes (or anything else) willy nilly – things must be replaced so that the house will not be denuded by the time they return. I had already used a number of Sue and Glenn’s nice red napkins.

Sure enough, the “Choice” store, my store of choice, had a reasonable range of paper napkins, and all in the fashionable colours to suit the fashionable décor of my temporary abode: the cheapest ones were plain white (around a dollar for one hundred) but there was a choice (of course) – the quality white ones were two dollars for fifty; likewise, the red napkins were two dollars for fifty, as were all the coloured serviettes. Next to the orange ones were some very chic black ones but I reckoned they were too funereal for ordinary dinners (but maybe alright for a charred grill). Beside the black selection (fifty for two dollars and one hundred for three dollars) was the perfect choice for my table – fifty black and white polka dot paper napkins that reminded me of a new top I had bought recently.

Yesterday afternoon my old friend Roland joined me for dinner. The modern white table looked very stylish indeed, dressed in the best red, white and black table mats, shining silverware and sparkling glasses (dishwasher gleam), and the pièce de résistance… the pretty polka dot napkins! And no, I was not wearing my new spotty top to match, however, the tomatoes on top of the cauliflower cheese were colour coordinated with the mats.

“That was a damned fine meal,” said Roland wiping his mouth with the spotty serviette.

“So glad you enjoyed it,” I giggled.

“I haven’t had a home-made cauliflower-cheese in years,” he continued. “The packet cheese sauces don’t compare.”

I looked at his earnest face and I giggled again.

“That’s a strange response,” my friend looked somewhat perplexed.

“Sorry, but you remind me of Desperate Dan – you know, the comic book character!”

I tried to stifle my giggling.

“What do you mean?” he asked with a look of worry across his face, “I had a shave this morning…”

“Are you sure?” I mocked, and burst out laughing, “Go look in the mirror!”

“And, being blond, I have never even had a five o’clock shadow,” Roland came back laughing. (As you can imagine, the black dye had come out of the spotty serviette and gone all around Roland’s mouth.)

I laughed and hooted for considerably longer than he did and I believe he left thinking me a laughing jackass.

Incidentally, please keep this under your hat as I’m planning a few more dinner parties whilst I’m here.

Do you remember the creepy film called “The Stepford Wives”, about a place where all the housewives love housework and cooking; and they wander around looking very beautiful in their strange frilly aprons; and they are crazy about their boring, plain husbands? Well, that’s me (not the last bit though – my Chris is very handsome and interesting), and it is not for the first time in my life, either.

Years ago, when I lived in Shailer Park (not far from here, actually – it must be something in the air), I used to get up at five in the morning, make breakfast and packed lunches, do the washing, hoover all the carpets, sweep and mop every tiled floor, clean the bathrooms, wash the dog (if he would let me) and bake cakes or pastries… all before nine o’clock every single day.

My sister Mary was so impressed with the Stepford wife Sally during her  stay with us that she resolved to do the same when she returned to England.

“I’m going to change my ways and become a Stepford wife, like Sally,” Mary announced to our father.

“I don’t know about Stepford, more like Steptoe”, quipped Dad, dryly. (He was alluding to “Steptoe and Son”, the sitcom about a father and son team of rag and bone men, whose house was chaotic.)

But that was many years ago. This morning I was going to take a cycle ride before beginning work on my current book when it occurred to me that perhaps I should hoover all the floors, mop all the mop-able floors, wash my sheets, clean the bathroom, disinfect every surface, remove every speck of dust, hoover the car, clean the car…  I worked like a slave – the house is quite large – and with an unusual obsessiveness that reminded me of the Shailer Park days. Everything had to be moved, every corner sucked – luckily there is an excellent hoover here (we don’t sweep tiled floors, we suck them) – it runs through the walls of the house! You simply pop the end of your nine-metre hose into one of the holes in the wall and, bingo! The suction is incredible – once or twice the hose became separated from the rod part and sucked me on the arm; I tell you, if I were as skinny as Mia farrow or Victoria Beckham I would have disappeared into the walls forever!

Shall I tell you about modern mops? In case you are old-fashioned, like I used to be, there is a new-age mop that is not made of string or sponge – it is a flat piece of plastic that breaks in the middle so one can fit a special towelling sleeve (dampened) over it, then you press it flat again and, bingo! You are ready to mop the whole house. I only had to wring it out twice, but then again, I didn’t really need to because the house was perfectly clean anyway.

After all my endeavours I had a nice games of darts by myself, before taking another shower and cleaning the bathroom again… You see I find that I have turned into a Stepford wife…

News from home comes from Chris, my weatherman husband on the spot. (I always had a feeling that his great interest, bordering on slight obsession, with meteorology would come in useful one day!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, we seemed to have survived yet another assault here in the South West – today’s storm tipped the scales at 85 mph, lots of structural damage around the place, but not here on the coast, as it happens.  It’s died down now, but moved on to Wales and the North West, where the News tells us the wind increased to hurricane force – 120 mph on the Lleyn Peninsula in North Wales – and debris flying all over the place in Blackpool and, I dare say, Sykes-land (our friends live in the Lake District).  State of Emergency declared, and unprecedented flood in places that don’t usually flood.  When will it all end?  Not yet, apparently, because we have yet another big storm heading in to hit us here in the South West on the weekend.  Oh what a beautiful morning etc etc.

Anyway, we’re still okay here, I’m glad to say, and tomorrow is expected to be quieter.  I won’t bore you with any more tiresome weather news, Darling, but, of course, it’s all rather on everyone’s mind here in Old Blighty – or was it Old Frighty?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t think it was too boring. You can tell he is a closet weatherman though – can’t you?

It was pretty hot after lunch today. The clouds had cleared and the sun was beating down outside. I felt thirsty and went to the special drinks fridge in the garage to get a zero calorie Coke (yes, I’m dieting again, as usual – nothing much to report yet but I live in hope); well I was walking back through the garage to get to the side door when I noticed, for the first time, a cabinet on the wall, which had the name of a pub on it. I was intrigued. “Could there be a dart board enclosed behind those small doors?” I wondered. And there was.

Feeling rather sporty nowadays, after my glorious introduction to cloud-shooting the other day (and yesterday – another arrow in the bucket! But it bounced back out, honestly!) I thought I might try my hand at darts too. There was a blue line on the concrete, which I gathered meant that that was the correct distance for serious gamesters.

At last, after a great deal of trying, unsuccessfully, to fit my size 10 feet (Australian sizing) in the three inches of space between my car and the blue line, I decided that it was not quite the thing to throw darts when on tiptoes. I had to allow myself the advantage of three extra inches over the blue line. Aided by a big gulp of slimming Coke, I composed myself – it felt good to have the can of drink at hand and I could quite understand why darts players are usually armed with a pint of beer (authentic professionals do not worry about slimming, perhaps because added weight gives stability).

So, eventually, I threw the first dart with great force and it hit the board sideways and fell straight down onto the concrete. The second dart dangled by its end for a tantalising few moments before joining the other on the floor. The third fluked a triple nineteen. Bolstered with renewed confidence, I retrieved the darts and tried again. This time I hit a bullseye first off, as you can see from the photograph (no trick photography or cheating), but I soon got bored – no fun playing on your own -and I went cycling instead. My bike, seemingly with a will of its own, sent me in the the direction of the Hyperdome where it is impossible to be bored and I bought another hat for Chris, in case he doesn’t like the other one.

What of work? “Tomorrow is another day…”

Some puns forwarded by my brother, Robert. Well, we all need some pun in life!

         A man’s home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.

Dijon vu – the same mustard as before.

Practice safe eating – always use condiments.

Shotgun wedding – a case of wife or death.

A man needs a mistress just to break the monogamy.

A hangover is the wrath of grapes.

Dancing cheek-to-cheek is really a form of floor play.

Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?

Condoms should be used on every conceivable occasion.

Reading while sunbathing makes you well red.

When two egotists meet, it’s an I for an I.

A bicycle can’t stand on its own because it is two tired.

What’s the definition of a will?
(It’s a dead give away.)

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism your count votes.

She was engaged to a boyfriend with a wooden leg but broke it off.

A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.

If you don’t pay your exorcist, You get repossessed.

With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.

The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.

You feel stuck with your debt if you can’t budge it.

Every calendar’s days are numbered.

A lot of money is tainted – Taint yours and taint mine.

A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.

He had a photographic memory that was never developed.

A midget fortune-teller who escapes from prison is a small medium at large.

Once you’ve seen one shopping centre, you’ve seen a mall.

Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.

Santa’s helpers are subordinate clauses.

Acupuncture is a jab well done.