Today I am speaking to you via the media of Andy's ipad because in a moment of what I can only describe as sheer stupidity I decided it would be a hip 'n' trendy thing to update my own ipad with the latest updatedness techno-gizmoid doo-da which has thusly rendered it bloody useless for blogging on. Gah! It also made it sluggish, lazy, random and prone to doing its own thing regardless of any instructions. A bit like me. And all this updating malarkey has proved to me that a) I am right to be resistant to change and b) if it ain't broke, don't fix it.
So, it has been almost three weeks since I last blogged. A lot has happened and most of it has been stress making. So part of my being a blog ghost has been down to what I shall now refer to as 'Updategate' but most of it has been down to the massive urge I've had to run screaming to the hills to live in a cave where no-one will be able to find me and I can live out my days weaving moss and appreciating the nutritional value to be had from gnawing on limestone rocks. Oh, and novel writing. The novel writing is going extremely well. There was an unexpected plot twist on Tuesday which even made ME jump and I was actually typing it. I never saw THAT one coming, I can tell you.
Anyway, you'll be pleased to know the scaffolding has finally gone. It was removed very noisily by the roofers two Sundays ago when the scaffolding company failed to collect it on Saturday. And then on Tuesday afternoon the scaffolders arrived to collect it and looked more than a little surprised to find it wasn't there. I had just got home from work when they appeared. One of them knocked on the door.
'What have you done with our scaffolding?' he said, looking a bit butch and menacing.
Sadly, he was unaware I was in no mood for tolerating narky scaffolders. I've had enough of this bloody roof this year and am overly full of unvented rage.
'I haven't done anything with your scaffolding,' said I, and I took a casual sip of the cup of tea I had just made. 'The roofers have taken it away. Because you failed to collect it when you said you would. Twice.'
The man looked cross. I held my ground. And my tea mug. I was quivering a little inside but don't tell anyone - I don't want to come across as a wuss.
'Where did they take it?' he said. 'They had no right to touch our scaffolding. We could have left it here as long as we wanted until we were ready to collect it.'
'Oh, I don't think so,' said I. 'Firstly, I don't know where they took it. Secondly, I am not a free storage facility for your scaffolding. Thirdly, you broke several Health and Safety regulations by leaving it unattended for so long, and fourthly, this is none of my business because your contract, if indeed you had one, is with the roofer and not me.'
The scaffolder backed down. Hell hath no fury like a woman peed off with scaffolders. And roofers. And people in general.
I provided them with contact details for the roofer although I was a tad surprised they didn't already have them. The boss of the scaffolding firm telephoned and told me he was going to report the roofer to the police for theft. I told him it was still none of my business. There has been no contact from the police who I suspect have told both the scaffolder and the roofer to grow up and stop playing stupid games. I don't know if the scaffolders got their scaffolding back and do you know what? I DON'T CARE!!!
On a gentler topic, we are being stalked by a neighbourhood cat. Actually, this cat has been our chum for around eight years now. He is a little black and white chap. He is very friendly. I shan't tell you what we have called him because it might cause sensitivities in some quarters so for the purpose of blogging I shall call him Smidge.
Smidge was abandoned by his owners across the road soon after we moved here but he was taken in by a nice lady up the road. The nice lady up the road died suddenly a few weeks ago from an undetected cancer. And now it seems that Smidge is once more abandoned. I didn't realise until he stopped for a chat a couple of weeks ago and I noticed how bony he had become. Well, I couldn't see him starve because, as you know, I love cats. But we couldn't take him in because we are already a house full of cats aka Phoebe (old and crabby and hates cats), Tybalt (late middle aged, skittish and increasingly prone to bladder infections when upset) and Flora Bijou Mybug who guards my affections with great jealously and doesn't really like sharing me with anything fluffy not even my furry winter boot socks.
But I could feed him, couldn't I? I could leave the greenhouse door slightly ajar so he could have somewhere dry to sleep, couldn't I? I could give him a bit of a ruffle behind the ears, couldn't I?
And I have been. And he has put on weight. And taken to sitting right by the front door in a feline stalkerish mode with his nose pretty much squished up against the glass panel which drives Flora into an absolute frenzy.
Silly me! But I couldn't see him starve, could I? He is a very nice chap, is Smidge.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a cave to retreat into and some moss to weave. I shall do my best to emerge for more blogging before too long. And I apologise for all the swearing. I think I must have been channelling my dad who used to say 'bloody' a lot, but I never heard him say anything worse, God bless his soul. And it has made me feel better. And I am sorry. Feel free to avail yourself of the Much Malarkey Manor complementary earmuffs that are hanging on the hook in the vestibule, should you forgive me enough to return for a further visit.
Hugs to you all! X