Hotness and firemen

It’s hot.  I like hot weather.  It’s just not quite so fun when you work from home and sit in a conservatory to do so.  Usually I would move into a cooler part of the house in the middle of the day in this weather, but yesterday I was having two house viewings at lunchtime and in an attempt to keep the house uncluttered, I wanted to stay where I was, at my desk.

As a result, when the first man arrived I was a sweaty mess.  I mean even the edges of my hair was wet.  It was not attractive.  He, however, was.  And (I imagine to the amusement of a few people who think I’ve met more than my quota) he was a fireman.  Not one like all the others I’ve met and had towel incidents, or made bacon sarnies (one truck load) or cups of tea for (two truckload, different incident).  The one was young, good looking and also a personal trainer.  You know – the sort you see on those tacky firemen calendars.  Just to remind you, I was a sweaty heap.

So this is a public service announcement.  If you are selling your house, don’t prepare for it in one of the hottest days of the year by sitting in your conservatory.  You never know who is going to turn up!  :o)

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Norman is much better at dealing with hotness than me…

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Pog Towers 2?

You know how a while back I went out just to look at some furniture and came home having bought a wardrobe a third of the size of the one I already had?  Well, I’ve kind of done it again.  Only this time it isn’t a wardrobe.  It’s a house…  And yes, it is actually smaller than Pog Towers (if things work out, I’ll explain what seems like sheer stupidity but does have some Pog logic).

As I was only really going to look, and wasn’t actually going to put an offer in, I’d not even considered putting Pog Towers on the market.  I wont go into all the details, but my offer has been accepted and the race has very definitely been on for the last week to get Pog Towers online.  It’s all been very grown up.

First the estate agent came round to value the house and arrange to take pictures.  I asked what he needed me to do to prepare for the photo shoot.  He looked around and suggested a clean and ‘quite a bit’ of de-cluttering.

I spent three nights cleaning with an enthusiasm I rarely have for something I consider so tedious.  I threw out bags of clutter.  I put even more in the loft.  Pog Towers shone.  It just wasn’t entirely de-cluttered.  So in the hour before the agent arrived I put an awful lot of stuff in cupboards.  When I ran out of cupboards I filled the fridge, the grill and the oven.  I was so proud.  I really thought that I might manage a grown up thing in the style of an actual grown up.

That evening, the only blip was when he said he wouldn’t take a photo of my bathroom as it was too small to get a decent picture.  I told him that after 2 hours of ****ing cleaning in there, he absolutely would be taking a ***ing photo.  He obliged.

The next day the link came through… Pog Towers is now online and available to buy.  I looked through the photos.  there were some good ones:

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And I found it very funny that Mum appears in the ones out the front (she’d been an angel and sneaked down when I’d been at work and made the garden look presentable after I’d tried, but basically just butchered it, and the agent turned up a day early to make sure he just some outside pictures in the sun):

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But then it went Pog style.  The first thing I saw on this picture was the fact that I’d ‘hidden’ the cat food in the oven:

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And that bathroom picture I’d insisted on?

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Well, it looks like I have a man trapped in there…

Despite all this, I do have some viewings this week.  Possibly just people wanting to rescue the man, or check out what’s on the menu, but you never know.  Please keep your fingers crossed for me.  I love Pog Towers, but I do need to sell it in quite a speedy way to be able to secure Pog Towers 2, and I think you’ll like number 2 as much as I do.  :o)

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It’s the thought that counts…

We all know, that when it comes to presents, it’s the thought that counts, right?  And I do appreciate that thought has gone into every present I receive, but sometimes I do wonder exactly what that thought process was…

Yesterday The Lovely Nut came to visit me.  The Lovely Nut is almost 80, very lovely and a complete nut.  She is also the mother of an ex from my dim and distant past. Her driving terrifies me so I convinced her to catch a train.  I picked her up and we had a lovely day exploring various Bumpkinsvilles and talking a lot.  She also very kindly bought me some presents.  Each was wrapped individually in a mix of pretty paper, paper napkins and elastic bands.

She often finds things she thinks I will find useful and was very impressed with her find of a pen loop (‘you can stick it inside your handbag darling, and you’ll always be able to find your pen.’). And everyone needs tissues, and they are very pretty:

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It started getting slightly weird at this point:

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I suppose everyone does get sore throats though, so I am sure the spray and throat sweets will come in useful.  And the same with the blister plasters.

Then it just got peculiar.  I have no idea what made her think of me when she saw these:

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But you know, it is the thought that counts.  I just wish I knew what that thought had been.  Or maybe not…. :o)

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Belated Black Cat Apprecation. Sorry Norman.

Wednesday was Black Cat Appreciation Day.  I think Norman knew; he had an air of ‘appreciate me’ about him.  Today he has an air of ‘I’m going to be a pain in the backside until you appreciate me’ about him, so yes, I am writing a post to keep what I imagine my cat thinks to keep him happy.  I have sunk that low.

So, here we have:

Norman being too lazy to actually position himself in a cat like way in his basket:

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Norman having removed the wool from my bag settling in for the evening:

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Norman appreciating the cat mint that he only actually appreciates if I cut it for him:

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Norman with the hiccups.  I have no proof as I woke up to find him hiccup-ping on my legs in the early hours of the morning and took a photo rather than a video (I’d just woken up), but trust me he was hiccuping!

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And the next one requires a bit of a story.  Norman has never been impressed with cat treats.  He’s much rather just eat the contents of my fridge.  That was until some of his lovely feline friends introduced him to some special treats that are basically freeze dried chicken.  Obviously you can only buy them one place on line and they cost a lot more than most, but to keep him happy I’ve been buying them for him for months.  This week we got a free sample of ‘Dreamies’ through the post.  I thought he wouldn’t be impressed.  I was wrong – they must contain cat cocaine – he almost ripped my hand off to get more.  I hid them on a shelf in the kitchen  next thing I knew, he’d sniffed them out and was trying to liberate them from the packet:

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I had to hid them in a cupboard.  I bought a proper size pack yesterday and let him have a few before putting them back in the cupboard.  I’m not sure if the packaging looks the same to a cat or whether it was just punishment for hiding them, but after 10 minutes of hunting out the cat cocaine, Norman attacked my loaf of bread.  That’s also now in a cupboard.

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Most of the time though, Norman is just very chilled out.

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There you go Norman, I appreciate you.  Can you leave the bread alone tonight, please? :o)

 

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Flashing Bumpkinsville

Any woman who runs knows that the most vital piece of equipment is their sports bra.  Even if you’re lolloping along, three legged donkey style, you have to have one to save ouchiness, droopiness and, in some cases, black eyes.  I’ve said it before, but as a reminder, you pretty much need to be a contortionist to get into one.  To help explain this post, Paddington kindly volunteered to model mine so you can see the problem (Norman was having none of it.  He might still be traumatised from his bra/bungee experience though, so I think we can let him off):

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See?  You have to clip the bottom and the top and make sure you have those thingys in the middle in the right place.

So anyway, this morning I went for what is becoming my regular Tuesday morning pre-work run.  I try to set myself a challenge each week.  Last week I finally managed 5km without stopping to walk.  Today’s challenge was to do the same, but in a better time (to do that 5km I’d gone so slowly I was waiting for the person on my app who tells me how fast I’m going to make some sort of sarcastic comment, so it shouldn’t have been too hard).  It seemed that other plans were afoot though.  Less than 1km in I felt a bit of a ping and a sense of freedom in my chest area.  I tried to grapple with my straps as I ran (that time was important!) but there was no chance of any contortionist moves while moving.  In fact, it became very clear that I couldn’t fix this while still actually wearing the bra.

And that is why I took this unofficial path:

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And literally ended up half naked in this field:

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It wasn’t quite the challenge I anticipated this morning, but it was a different start to a Tuesday… :o)

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The genius of Google

When I was at university I won a prize.  I’m not the sort of person who wins prizes so I rushed off to find my head of course tutor to ask what it was for.  She had a slightly traumatised look on her face when she in formed me that it was for asking questions.  Specifically, for consistently asking the most questions of any of my year for the duration of our three year course.  I never did find out if that really was the case, but it is safe to say that I do ask a lot of questions.

Google is my best friend these days.  I Google most of my life.  I must have caused a huge amount of irritation pre Google (which uni was).  Google is amazing.

Never more so than this week when I wanted to find a song and had no idea how to phrase it so Google would be able to answer.  Out of ideas I typed exactly how I would ask in person.  ‘What song goes da da da daah?’ and you’ll never guess what.  It knew.  It knew exactly what I meant!  Google, the one that knows all the answers told me it was Beethoven’s 5th symphony.  But I actually wanted a different version of it, and I didn’t know what it was from or who was responsible for it.  Google didn’t let me down.  A couple of questions later and I discovered I was actually looking for Walter Murphy – A Fifth Of Beethoven.  Google is a genius.

Later on I was lying in bed and couldn’t sleep and it dawned on my that Google is good, but could Siri be better?  I got out the lap top and asked exactly the same question.  I think Siri needs to clean out his ears:

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Siri may be younger and shinier, but Google is definitely still my best friend :o)

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A Pog diet

In the ongoing saga to work out the cause of the pain in my face and having completely stumped the dentist, yesterday I went to Guys Hospital to see the surgeon who had done the second wisdom tooth extraction (the one where it actually came out, rather than having to be poked back in and stitched over).

It meant I got to show him that photo.  I did warn him first that no, the cat hadn’t attacked me and no, I didn’t have a bad case of facial hair as two friends initially thought when they saw it.

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Despite looking slightly concerned as I gave this explanation, it turns out it was useful  as he sketched it into my notes.  I knew someone somewhere would see the genius in it.  Next he stuck most of his hand in my mouth and ask me to indicate when he hurt me.  I thought that was either very brave or a bit daft.  Happily, I didn’t clamp down on his fingers, and just stuck to a bit of squealing instead.  He told me he knew the problem and although it’s linked to the wisdom tooth issue, he felt that I was quite a stressed person and that didn’t help.  I felt that was a little unfair as the first time he met me it involved drilling out part of my jaw while I stared at the ceiling and this time he’d been intent on hurting me, but I kind of had to agree he’d got his assessment right.

So the good news is that I have a diagnosis – the muscles in my jaw are in spasm – and it can be treated over a matter of 3-4 weeks.  The bad news is that until it’s better I’m meant to stick to a ‘soft’ diet.  ‘Pasta and yogurt’ was his suggestion.  I asked if toast could be classed as soft.  Apparently it can’t.  And as my diet mostly revolves around toast, I have a bit of a problem.

But I had a brainwave.  For the next month I shall mostly be living on…

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Rice pudding :)

(If anyone has any better ideas that can be whipped up in a matter of minutes using no more than one pan, please feel free to share them with me.  I don’t know how long my rice pudding enthusiasm will last…)

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