A humorous look at bodily ills and daily woes, and tips from someone who has suffered everything from arthritis to athlete's foot.
Monday, 6 September 2010
I've told you before about how my friend Louise, who died tragically last year, always called me Polly Parrot. The day she died, and for two or three days following, there was an entire flock of parakeets in the back garden and I talked to them as if I was talking to her, and said, "Hello, Louise," when I opened the door and saw them there.
I haven't seen them for some time. They fly over the rooftop but don't stop. Today, though, there was a loud squawking outside my bedroom window (which still has a bullet hole through the window from three years ago) and when I looked looked out, this beauty was perched on the silver birch in the front garden. I took a few shots through the window, then quietly opened the door, took this photo, called, "Hi, Louise!" and it squawked back, then flew away. I'm sure it was her, come to check up and see if I was OK.
Poor old Mr G has been up to his armpits in s**t all day because the main drain blocked up (some new people down the road keep putting nappies down the loo instead of binning them, and as this house is the last in the row, and is just where the pipe bends to go into the main sewer, this is where the blockage always occurs. If Mr G didn't own a set of long, telescopic drain rods, he'd be paying £300 per time for something that wasn't caused by him. It's just not fair! But the law says that if the manhole is on your land, you are responsible for clearing any blockages, even if they were caused by the neighbours. However, the law on this is due to change in 2012, making it the council's responsibility (how long would they keep you waiting, unable to use your loo, do you think? Weeks, probably!)
No sooner had he sorted this out (it's a big job for an able-bodied person, let alone one who's had two strokes) and put all his clothes in the wash, then I noticed a nasty smell and a lot of water seeping out from beneath the back step. This is where the outlet for the kitchen sink, washing machine and dishwasher is and, wouldn't you just know it, it had chosen the same day to block up as the main drain. Poor old Mr G donned his long rubber gloves, fished around, removed lots of gunge, then had to go out and buy drain cleaner.
I came back from the bank to find Mr G and two of his cronies drinking coffee in the kitchen and an almighty stench throughout the house. Even the cat won't come in. I am sitting with all the first floor windows wide open, despite the rain, and have sprayed my bedroom with lavender room spray. Hope it's a little sweeter by bedtime or I guess I'll dream I've fallen down a sewer. (All those rats... EEEEEK!)