Mr Grumpy interred (or rather, in turd!)

Came back from the shops to find a mega stink hanging over the house like a fuzzy brown blanket and a hot, cursing and smelly Mr G trying to unblock the drains. Since he told me off for throwing hairs from my hairbrush, and dental floss down the loo - they now go in the bin - I have been very careful to preserve the flow of said drains, so, feeling virtuous, I asked what was blocking them this time.

"Nappies," he replied.

"Well, you can't blame that on me!" I responded.

It turns out we are last in line and the same main drain serves several houses. Two large families have moved in further down. The finger of blame would seem to point to one, if not both, of them. What is really unfair is that if Mr G had to call in Dyno-Rod to clear it, rather than having his own drain-clearing kit (he has a chimney sweeping kit as well, being a real jack of all trades), he would have had to pay hundreds of pounds for something that was not his fault. It really is most unfair.

To get to the bus stop and mini supermarket, I cut down a neighbouring street, but today it was full of police and forensic officers in full overalls doing their CSI bit inside the scene of crime tape. Not having the nerve to ask, I was sauntering past having a good gander when a youth marched up to one of the wpc's on duty and asked her cheerily, "Was it a fatality?"

"No, but it was a very serious incident and that's all I'm allowed to say," she replied, adding, "Hope you're enjoying this lovely weather," a remark which had an undertone to it, perhaps implying that the poor sod who got stabbed or whatever, certainly wasn't.

A few yards down the street I passed a couple of gawping women just getting out of their car, and relayed the info to them. "Oh yes, we saw police bringing bundles of stuff out of one of the flats above the shops early this morning," said one of them. We all agreed that doubtless we'd read about it in the local paper. And that's when I came back to find poor Mr G was in the shit!

RED ROSE UPDATE
There is now a total of 20 blooms and buds, many of which won't reach maturity because they are crawling with greenfly which are sucking the life out of them. I can't help feeling that there is a metaphor taking place. (Don't tell me to wash 'em off with soapy water. I keep doing that but it's like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon, to use my mother's time-worn expression.)