Definitely losing it

Sitting on the bed, right there,

on a bright check blanket,

in all its fluorescent high vis yellow -

the tape measure.

How many times have we searched that virtually empty room?

This morning I put something else on that bed.

It wasn't there then.

Nothing has been taken off the bed that might have covered it.

Nobody here is inclined to play tricks.
There is nobody else here except my husband.

Grand-daughter has not been in there

and in any case could not have reached up onto the bed.

We are seriously weirded out.

Losing it

He jumped down from the bed,

took off his pyjamas and looked for his trousers.

He looked on the chair where he'd left them and

he looked on the floor under the chair -

and then he looked through the chest of drawers

in case they were there.

But they weren't.

They were nowhere.

You wouldn't think it was possible to lose a pair of men's trousers

in regular rotation.
Especially as there are no other men in the house at present.

Naturally it was assumed that they were somewhere in the washing cycle.

Laundry basket. Washing machine. Airer. Ironing basket.

Nope.

'But they must be somewhere,' said Little Bear.

'Trousers don't disappear.

I'll go and ask Old Bear.

He'll know where they are.'*

But Old Bear didn't know where they were

because they weren't her trousers.

But once she knew they were missing she was a woman possessed.

She re-examined the washing cycle places.

She looked in the wardrobe.

She looked amongst her own trousers.

Just in case.

She looked in other people's wardrobes.

Just in case.

They wondered if they had been taken to the cleaners.

Nope.

They wondered if they had been left in another house

because they had stayed away,

but no, that would have meant coming home in underpants.

But they must be somewhere, she wailed.

This is ridiculous.

A suspicion was entertained that Old Bear had taken them to a charity shop.

But she knew that she had done no such thing and was very indignant.

Time passed.

They began to believe that trousers could just disappear.

Just like her favourite necklace or the bee brooch.

And then one day a strange flash of intuition

pierced Old Bear's befuddled mind.

She looked at the laundry basket 

and held her breath for she had remembered something.

The basket has a drawstring liner so that you can lift the washing out

and sometimes people drop things into it

before the liner has been replaced.

And then the liner is brought back upstairs

and popped back in -

on top of whatever lurks in the dark at the bottom.

You are ahead of me.

Now we must turn our attention to the missing metal tape measure.

Used only yesterday for measuring up pictures

that are being re-hung on the freshly painted walls.

It is a new tape measure, self-locking and retracting.

Could it be in the laundry basket?

*Little Bear's Trousers by Jane Hissey.

Lovely to look back on

because I really don't want to look out of the window today.

Luckily it will soon be dark so that will sort that problem out.

Mackerel sky, mackerel sky,
Never long wet, never long dry.
or
Mackerel sky
Not twenty four hours dry.

Have at thee Christmas!

Four jars of mincemeat made

and one Christmas card bought.

A Post-It note saying:

Goose?

Make table bigger?

Get/make curtains.

Put curtains up spare room.

The illusion of being satisfactorily on top of things 

in that department

cannot be allowed to persist.

Self-sweeping leaves

Every morning when I open the front door

I find this heap of plane tree leaves

tidily swept into a pile by the south westerly wind.

Such a time saver.

Welcome back old friend

There's no knowing when he will show up,

but he was just what the doctor ordered today.

I think he has some admirers out there too.

I bought Mog's Christmas Calamity today.

Of all the supermarket Christmas ads

this is my favourite.

Freda pointed me towards this behind the scenes clip
with Mog's creator Judith Kerr.

P.S. I have crayons in pots envy.

Roses

Fly past

One of the things I can be relied upon to say,

as I struggle to find anything to like about

this time of year is,

At least the flies have gone.

But here is a sight to add to my glass half empty -

 a murmuration over marshes at dusk.

First they flew past us

in a continuous stream.

Then the line coalesced into an ovoid,

before swooping down to roost for the night.

This sequence took just 15 seconds.

We were so lucky to catch it as we drove past.

La, la, lala la lah

Camber Sands at high tide is a thronged thoroughfare.

People stride up and down the narrow corridor

between the dunes and the spongy saturated sand.

All busy going nowhere,

for no particular reason.


What a pleasure it is.

Still

The weather has been calm, misty and uncannily warm for November.

We are used to being buffeted by strong winds when we walk on this coast,

even during the summer. 

Not for nothing is there an array of wind turbines at Romney Marsh.

It takes most of the day, but slowly

 the mist thins and lifts and layers of garments

are discarded and tied clumsily by their arms

around our waists.

It is warm enough not to have to shiver in sympathy

with the girl modelling a wedding dress in the dunes.

Almost Mediterranean.

A still small day of calm
in an otherwise rather frenetic patch.