Tuesday, 26 July 2011

Chasing my tail

We have important visitors coming from Japan
a week tomorrow.
There is much to do and this pinny 

is clearly the appropriate garb,
for the efficient accomplishment of these labours.

 Many lists have been drawn up and a preliminary shop
is the first task of the day -
mirin, soy sauce, ramen, sushi rice,
tofu, wasabi, rice wine vinegar.
I know they will try to like Western food,
but I'm happy to provide some familiar faces.

So far so good.

Then to acquire a laundry basket, a bedside lamp
and a biscuit jar for those awake and hungry at unfamiliar times.
One out of three successes there.
The biscuit jar fell to the tiled hall floor 
as soon as we crossed the threshold,

and the lamp was missing a vital screw.
I fixed the lamp with a spare screw 
from the tool cabinet in the garage

but that is where things started unravelling.
Washing lines beckoned,
windows needed cleaning,
and whilst I have the squirty bottle why not do the mirrors too
and those pictures leaning against the wall,
find a space to hang them them 
and clean their dirty glass, 
start supper, boil some potatoes for a fish pie
(because it's fish pie weather again),
return to the high windows with a ladder
because a swivel chair is not a good idea,
I see that now, but it's only a tiny bruise,
get a close up view of a glass lampshade
with its mini-mortuary of dead flies,
dismantle it with difficulty,
spot the discarded screws from the lamp-fixing exercise,
take them back to the garage,
turn a deaf ear to everything 
calling and hollering in the garage
and hurry out to be reminded of the washing line
by an impending shower,
rush in and hear the potatoes boiling over,
catch sight of some scarves put to soak.
By whom? When?
Remember the hanging baskets by the front door
and water them in the hope
that they will last until next week.
Water cascades off the parched soil
onto my shoes.
Pick beans for supper but get arrested
by the sight of this creature -

unlike anything I have ever seen before
and must be photographed and identified. Anyone?
Books fail me, so resort to Google,
and whilst here decide to have a little sit down
and attempt a blog post but
Blogger refuses to save and logs me out
deleting everything I have written thus far.

I tear the pinny off, eat large quantities of fish pie
and peanut butter fudge and start
all over again.

Edited to add:
And the job that fell off the conveyor belt?
The lightbulb in the bathroom
which, as I discovered later that night,
I had failed to replace in its holder.


  1. Oh, I am *laughing* over this. You have just described my life very well, down to the swivel chair episode (but mine was a very large bruise--or, I should say a series of large bruises and a knot on my head). Everything being deleted is no fun at all, but you sure pulled off a nice second-try post!

    I like your pinny! (Do they make armored pinnies? Because I sense the need for one in my future. . .)

  2. Oh dear, I can relate to this ...the visitors coming and having so much to do. Wonderful post.

  3. Oh Lord , yes !!
    You'll continue in like mode till they arrive , smooth your hair , whip pinny off , stick smile on face . And they'll have a wonderful time .
    You'll find pinny later in cupboard under the stairs .

  4. I started by homing in on that pinny and clicking on it to see the wonderful label, not knowing what the rest of the post held. Oh dear............. it was one of THOSE days, wasn' it? "Having visitors" can cause such havoc in our lives prior to their arrival............. No idea what the bug is....

  5. I think you just summed up my life!!

    Love that pinny xx

  6. Here in the States my husband says they call it an Ambush Bug.
    What a day, do you hire out, I could use someone like you, i got tired just reading.

  7. Oh dear, I'm glad the bruise is small. Love your pinny. I don't have visitors, I am pleased to say. Enjoy the visit though.

  8. That's how it is with expecting visitors. You are so busy and everything is seemingly pristine and fresh and then you move the dresser and see a world of webs and inexplicable dust and you despair and run away to sea. Could you plot to visit someone (importantly) for a rest cure afterwards?