Thinking about trifle...

…it was the glorious sunrise that set it off, it was layered, like trifle. Jelly and custard colours, sort of merging, when you haven’t waited long enough for the previous layer to set. And there were hundreds and thousands of starlings in the sky. That’s a lie. I didn’t see one. That’s my artistic – or perhaps poetic – license at work. If I ever decide to describe one, then the starlings will be there. I did see a disgruntled looking magpie, but that’s about all really. I might have surprised some of the neighbours as well. They saw me walking back to the house at 7.30 am, looking dishevelled, and it may have got them wondering where I’d been, and if I was just getting back! Actually about 10 minutes prior to that I was fast asleep in my bed! It was the magnificent orange glow that woke me up. I stopped only to put my hair into some sort of order, grab some jeans and trainers, a fleece, and of course, my camera – then I was out in the chilly stillness of the morning. A different start to the day, and because it was so early, it meant I have got lots more done today than on a normal day. I did loads of course work, a bit of reading and some cleaning. I actually replaced the bag in the Hoover – that is how industrious I was. OK – I was somewhat spurred on by an expected visit from my mum – but I cleaned out the budgie cage (and washed it, in Dettol), and did loads of other unnecessary things as well. I polished the drinks coasters at one point, and watered a plant. Mind you – I was sort of expecting her at 10-ish so when she rang at half past to say she would be coming round much later, I then had to try and not untidy everywhere. I had to hope that the dust wouldn’t settle again!

I was mid feeding dandelions to the rodents this morning, when I got a phone-call on my mobile from some woman who wanted to try and save me money. I told her it was inconvenient – it wasn’t really – but as the Guinea pigs had smelt the leaves, the squeaking was that loud I couldn’t really hear what she was saying, so I had to go out of the garage, and I felt guilty then, that they were all worked up about their treat with no sign of it coming. I am quite sure it was not the woman’s intention to save me money – and it really annoys me that they think I am that gullible. She said she was going to ring back at 5, but she hasn’t – but at least I know to ignore the call now. It’s easier than being rude, I suppose – although less satisfying. I know she is just doing her job – but where did she get my number from anyway. She wasn’t from T-Mobile so she can sod off. Perhaps mid-forties is too young for me to become a ‘grumpy old woman’, but it is mainly caused by phone-calls like this, and annoying people brandishing clipboards at tea time, constantly ringing the doorbell and telling me they are not selling anything. At the moment my answer to this is “Excellent, because I’m not buying anything” and I shut the door. Perhaps it would be better to say “Oh no, really – what a shame because I am really gullible and I buy everything people try to sell to me at the door, especially at teatime when I am distracted by trying to cook a meal without burning it – oh well, never mind, byeeee,” and slam the door. I think I will try that. Within the last half hour a tall woman with a really long Gestapo style Mac has been to the door, but I ignored it so I will never know what she wasn’t selling! My other source of irritation is from the constant stream of ‘Bettaware’ catalogues though my door – followed by cards through the door to say they were sorry they missed me, but would I leave my catalogue outside for collection the next day. Apart from telling all the local burglars that I am out, leaving a catalogue on the doorstep means that everyone (even the husband) brings the sodding thing in again!

I feel like nailing the card to the door with this written on the back of it: “Thank you for your thoughtful catalogue, the dog ate it and had to have an expensive operation to have the plastic bag removed from his intestine where it had caused a blockage. I will be sending you the vet’s bill and, of course, the invoice for the cleaning that had to be done following the dogs explosion in the hallway. The total is currently estimated to be £895.73, but this may well go up, as the cat, pining for his constant companion, has become depressed and needs feline therapy. This could go on for several months. Meanwhile, the house has become overrun by rats and mice, so Rent-o-kill had to be called in (invoice to follow). Oh and I would like to order one of those bendy brushes that cleans out the spout of a teapot. I am afraid I don’t have an order form that isn’t partially digested, and I only know about the brush because it was on the fragment of the catalogue that hit me in the face during the aforementioned explosion. Have a nice day.” I don’t have a dog, but that’s another example of poetic license. Of course, as it is quite a small card – I might just put “If you want it so badly, don’t put it thorough the letter box in the first place.”