I like to think of myself as a mature and dignified lady – not a
Trainee Sheepdog
I succumbed to the temptation of the middle aisle in Lidl’s, and bought a leaf blower/sucker. It seemed a lot easier than sweeping up the thick carpet of leaves that the wind has brought down and abandoned all over my garden.
Much to my surprise it had an instruction booklet, even in English. Like a sensible person I hitched it out and read it; I hate to think what might happen if I assembled it wrong! It was quite straightforward, even for someone of my limited mechanical know-how.
Feeling very proud of myself I attached it to the extension lead. I fully unrolled this lead, acting on knowledge gained over the course of years – another cause for congratulation. I was ready to go. I selected a promising spot and switched the red switch, and lo and behold, It sprang into life!
It certainly blew. Even on 1, the least powerful, it was sending gravel all over the place, and leaves were flying in every direction. Huge fun, but a bit random.
Two thoughts occurred to me:
- I’ll have to be more directional with my aim.
- If it blows leaves as ferociously as this, I’d better not try the sucker on the gravel – it was bound to suck up gravel, a thing the instruction booklet was at pains to mention would result in the instant death of the machine.
The perfect solution would be to blow all the leaves out into the road, herd them into a pile, then switch to the sucker when there was no danger of sucking up gravel.
Leaves, I’ve decided, are much like sheep. When chased they skitter off all over the place – they are not like herring, which David Attenborough assures us will stick together in a bait ball when threatened. No, they scatter to all known points of the compass.
I had a wonderful time outmanoeuvreing them. I was Come by-ing an Away–ing in the best traditions of One Man and His Dog. I achieved the Drive and the Fetch, negotiated the obstacle of the garden gate, and put the leaves on Hold in the road.
I sprinted back to the house to attach the sucker – again quite straightforward, so in no time I was ready to go. It was at this point that I discovered that the extension lead went as far as the gate and no further!
I stood there, sucker in hand, and watched as the leaves joyfully danced up from their neatly gathered pile and set off down the road, each leaf carefully selecting a different route to the one chosen by its pals.
I weighed up the situation, and rapidly came to the conclusion that an old-fashioned broom was my only realistic option.
Ah well – it was fun at first!
If the Sistine Chapel needs repainting, don’t look at me!
Beaky
I have acquired a bird* – ask not how!
He arrived a couple of months ago, and took up residence on top of my sideboard, opposite the chicken. Having spent his early life in a garden he was a little faded and sad-looking, so I resolved to paint him.
First I had to get someone to lift him down from his perch, then I had to buy a suitable paint, probably from the Chinese, and only then could I commence to rejuvenate him. 1 and 2 were easily achieved; then I was faced with the nub of the problem – painting him.
I assembled the various coloured paints and found a paintbrush. I carried him outside and put him on a newspaper. I stood back and surveyed the scene, and decided that glasses were necessary. I fetched my glasses.
I started on his body with yellow, mixed with a cream colour to make him less startling – he’s not a canary! That went well, except that the paint pulled back a bit when it dried, but it didn’t look too bad. Then I moved on to red for the top of his wings and some of his tail. That too went well, so eagerly I moved on to green for the middle of his wings and some more of his tail. That too was fine, so full of confidence I moved on to the blue. This was going to be the trickiest – all around his face and chest, his wingtips and some more of his tail.
I opened the blue, and discovered that it was black. So I hurried back to the Chinese to get some blue. Confidence undaunted I returned, opened the blue, dipped my brush and took a goodly dollop.
I might as well have used washing up water! Where I had painted there was virtually no evidence of paint, just a damp patch with the minimal indication of blue! I painted his blue bits over again. And again. In short I painted his blue bits 6 times before achieving sufficient coverage. It’s not so much the number of times I had to repeat my labours, it was more the number of times I had to be careful not to go over, or smudge, his lines – I had 6 smudge opportunities – never have I concentrated so hard!
By the time I had got to coat #6 I had had enough! If this coat isn’t sufficient, then I’ll…..I left this resolution hanging in the air! Fortunately for the bird and my temper coat #6 seemed to be OK. I stood back to admire my work.
All I’ll say is that from a distance he doesn’t look too bad! He’s back on the sideboard, where his magnificence is on display for all to admire, and where nobody can get close enough to criticize!
*He’s not a real bird, and neither is the chicken.
I’ve been having difficulties answering comments on Facebook, so if I have ignored you, I haven’t, I just can’t get Facebook to co-operate!
Pling-Plong
I’ve got a plate, copper I think, with a design incorporating a couple of fish, and which came back from a holiday somewhere where English is not the first language.
It has graced numerous places in my house, but due to a restructuring of ornamentation it had become temporarily homeless. But only temporarily – a new abode offered itself in the porch. This would involve making a hole in the wall and inserting a nail or some such protrusion, upon which to hang it.
No problem – I’ve got a Mick for that. Making holes in walls without making a mess is Mick’s forte, not mine. So the hole was made and the plate was hung. It looked very much at home, and seemed happy in its new surroundings.
Then came that ridiculous wind! The plate held fast, but it wobbled when the wind caught it, resulting in an erratic Pling-Plong as the wind blasted it’s sides against the wall.
No problem! sought and found some little squares of cork with sticky backs in my Everything drawer. I took the plate off the wall and stuck the sticky squares on the back of the plate.
Silence.
Until, during the night I heard Pling-Plong! I was not getting up, it could Pling-Plong as much as it liked, I was staying in bed. Investigating the next morning I found the floor strewn with little cork squares, whose stickiness had proved inadequate to the task of silencing the plate.
One night of Pling-Plong was bearable, but more than one night I was not willing to tolerate. I took it down – I could reach up enough to get it off the wall using the bottom step of the kitchen steps. There was no need to remove the cork squares – they’d done that all on their own. So I substituted them for a more robust and stickier option in plastic.
Getting the plate back up was literally a step too far for me. The bottom step I could manage, supporting myself on the frame on the top of the steps, but my legs would not consent to the second step, not without my arms holding on to something, and there was nothing except wall to offer me support and solace.
Walls are flat – you can’t grab hold of a wall! So the plate and I waited for the next Mick visit. Mick visited, and in less than a minute the plate was duly restored to its new rightful place.
I don’t wish to encourage the wind, but now I need a goodly gale from the right direction to test the silencing and the sticking qualities of the plastic backing. If my strategy is successful I might write different lyrics to Silent Night!
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