The Frumplingtons

It’s still chaos at Frumplington Central as we continue slowly getting our new home redecorated. Meanwhile, we thought it best to remove our books from the living room, where they would be likely to get covered in dust, bits of old wallpaper and assorted other debris. The safest place, we decided, would be on the stairs. I guess, if you’re a bibliophile, like us, then this must be the stairway to heaven:

Trouble is, it takes us ages coming down to breakfast in the morning. There is an almost irresistible temptation to browse en route. Look at this lot though: that yucky peach paper has really got to go, hasn’t it? Wouldn’t have been our choice, that’s for sure. The sun, though, is ours, rescued from a life of obscurity in the depths of a Lincoln bric-a-brac shop a couple of years ago.

Some would say you’re not a proper blogger till you’ve posted a photo of the sunset on your blog. Either that or a picture of your cat doing silly things. Well we don’t have a cat. And if we want anything silly doing we’ll do it ourselves, thanks all the same. Meanwhile, here are a couple of — what’s the technical term? — tasty shots of our local sunset, taken by Shana at around dusk o’clock. If the old adage is right, there’ll be a few delighted shepherds around this evening. Not sure what the sheep will think of it all though.

It’s been a busy week for us so far, when it comes to animal life. I’ve already told the story of my encounter with the bumble bee. Today’s bit of animal magic concerns spiders. At least I haven’t found any of them hiding behind the curtains. Mind you, it’s easy enough to tell if they are: just look out for four pairs of highly polished little brogues sticking out from underneath.

Anyway, today’s story began a week or two ago when Shana found a spider in the bathroom. The little tinker was trying to sneak off with my soap on a rope, damn him! I’m pleased to report that he failed on this occasion, finding himself scooped up into an empty Cadbury’s Smash tin and removed to a location some twenty feet away from our house. We should be safe enough now, I thought. Spiders are not known for their homing instincts, are they?

And sure enough, Soap Thief has not returned.

But Soapy didn’t need to return. He sent one of his big buddies round instead. This one decided to hide himself in plain view, in the bath. I decided to take a look at the new arrival from what has long been my favourite vantage point when viewing members of the arachnid fraternity: on top of a chair, whimpering, “S-s-s-spider!” I did pluck up enough courage to take a closer look a bit later though: he was grey, slightly furry and had dark stripes. I was back on my chair quicker than you could say tarantula, though, after he winked at me.

Luckily, Shana was on hand again. Empty coffee jar this time. 400 grammes too. Big chap, he was. Really big.

The last straw, however, came earlier this evening. I walked into the bathroom and there was Stripey’s big brother, as large as life, in a bath full of bubbles, using three of our best loofahs and singing ‘Woh, we’re going to Barbados’. As far as I know — not that I’ve been back to check — he’s still there. I’m not sure if we have any empty oil drums in the shed, but I’ve a feeling we might soon be needing one.

Chris

It’s nearly midnight and I’ve only just gotten over what happened first thing this morning when I went into the kitchen to prepare the first cuppa of the day.

No sooner had I opened the curtains than a bee appeared. It must have been there all night planning its escape. I wasted no time in opening the window to let it out and most grateful it appeared too. I couldn’t help thinking, though, that there must have been much consternation at the hive when this little fellow failed to show up in the evening. And although we may not understand them, bees surely have their own language just as we do. You can only guess at what was said in this bee’s absence…

“Bzz…bzz…where’zzz Daddy?”

“He’zzz not home yet. Lookzzz as if he’zzz staying out on one of his all-night benderzzz again, the lazzzy idle shiftless bzzztard! Now just finish your tea and get yourself off to bed, Buzz.”

“OK, Mom!”

Lucky it wasn’t a wasp though, I thought later. Otherwise it’d probably just have come straight at me with its stinger at the ready. Big mistake though, just in case you’re one of our waspish readers. Know why? ‘Cos I’m real handy with a copy of the TV Times. Gold medallion medallist in the flyswat Olympics, that’s me. Consider that a warning.

Chris

Not been very well lately. Started last December with partial deafness in one ear, doctors tell me I’ve got a guitar behind my ear drum (well it sounded like that to me), it will clear up…eventually. The last couple of weeks have seen me fighting my second dose of flu this year, which has made the deafness almost total. I’m only fit for the knackers yard!

Then on Tuesday I felt well enough for a saunter up to town. No problems until we headed for home. Walking down the High Street with bags of goodies we’d purchased, all of sudden…BANG. I found myself sprawled flat out on the pavement. Chris helped me to my feet, well foot actually, one was badly sprained, I could barely stand up. But all the pain is overtaken by the overwhelming sense of embarrassment. And despite the fact that there is a taxi firm across the road, I started to limp the last half mile home.

Chris, being the kindly soul that he is, has decided that my welfare comes first. He’s arranged for me to go away to the country for a while to get some rest. He’s keeping the exact location a surprise, but says it’s got a nice walled garden, the high wall actually goes around the entire house. Sounds very victorian.

He’s also bought me a new jacket especially for my vacation. Not very good with sizes is Chris, the arms are way too long with ties on the end. He assures me it’s the fashion where I’m going to stay, everyone wears them. And, as is the fashion, the arms are tied at the back. Sounds very strange to me.

I’ve started packing, Chris says I don’t need to take anything more than a change of clothes and a nightdress, the jacket is worn all of the time apparently. I told him not to be silly, a house in the country, there’s bound to be evening soirées. So I’m going to pack at least one cocktail dress and a pair of heels.

I’m going away for a while…

Shana

Picked up a couple of choice pieces in town this morning. Two gaily coloured (am I allowed to say that?) decorative wall plates, to be precise. Now, I know they’re made for display purposes, but I couldn’t resist making the following witty observations:

“They’re very nice plates, aren’t they? But I don’t think there’s enough room for me to get all me dinner‡ on them,” and:

“You can tell those are quality plates. I bet the colour doesn’t fade, no matter how many times they go in the washing up bowl.”

Shana knows I’m only joking, of course. Which is good, because later, when we had got the plates home, I also had a few ideas on the best way to fix said plates to the wall.

“You don’t want to go using those plasticy spring-loaded wire holders, you know. Best thing is that No More Nails stuff. (Great as an emergency denture fixative, by the way.**) Or tile cement. Something like that. Better not go changing your mind on where you want them though.”

Chris

‡ One man’s dinner is another man’s supper, just as some of us use the word ‘dinner’ to mean lunch. Let’s not rake up that old class-ridden linguistic chestnut here: there’s a time and a place and this ain’t it.

**  For goodness’ sake, ignore this ‘advice’. I don’t really mean it.

We’ve been at it again: ripping bits of wallpaper off at random whenever the mood takes us. Some of it even comes off in, as near as dammit, complete rolls.

Yesterday evening we set to attacking the paper in the hall. The most recent layer was some white Anaglypta that the previous tenant had covered in a rather fetching shade of peach from what I can only assume must have been the Insipid™ range of paint.

Underneath it we found this most wonderful floral paper, depicting sweeping realistic foliage forms in natural tones. There was some faded paper in a rather more delicate design, which might appear in a forthcoming entry, depending on the level of public demand.

By the way, if you’re expecting a picture of me wearing a hat made from this wallpaper, then you’re out of luck. Whaddya think I am: daft?

Chris

Young children, as all parents will know, often go through a stage where they will put almost anything into their mouths. This is why there are warnings about toys being ‘not suitable for anyone under 3 years old’, and public information films telling you to keep various dangerous things out of reach on high shelves.

It is a little known fact, however, that some of us go through a stage, much later in life, where we will put almost anything on our heads for no other reason than that we find it comical.

Maybe it is something to do with that universal longing for approval. (Psychoanalysts, feel free to discuss this amongst yourselves.)

Me? I just think I’m the reincarnation of Carmen Miranda. Just take a look at what I got up to with this floral decoration:

Image, as usual, by Shana.

Chris

Why was Shana leaning out of the kitchen window at dusk yesterday evening and tossing out little pieces of bread?

Easy: it’s because we seem to have been ‘adopted’ by one of the local ducks.

Duck? Beaky freeloader more like.

We are only a couple of minutes’ walk away from the river here and often see swans and ducks flying past. This one, however, knows a good thing when he sees it — or rather, when it is thrown to him. As you can see from Shana’s photo, he looked as if he was going to settle down for the night. Just think of it: we could have opened the kitchen curtains first thing this morning only to find The Duck still there, looking up at us, expecting free corn flakes and quack quack, could you fix me a coffee…quack…while you’re about it?

Shana has named him Donald, but I tend to think of him as a Darren. Darren the Duck. (Or ‘Daz’ for short.)

Anyhow, he scarpered not long after this pic was taken. Scared of the local moggies, I’ll bet.

This was taken from a post on the Craft Forum I’m a member of, just had to share

Go to Google Maps
Click on ‘Get Directions’
From: New York, New York
To: Paris, France

Read line #23

Shana