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Showing posts with label heart... Home.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label heart... Home.... Show all posts

Monday, 24 October 2011

Now with added rats!






Admit it, I've sold you on them.   The rats, of course...

But not their tails, or perhaps tales!

The lovely Lisa B's photos do the rat-baby-beasts more justice, it has to be said.   Many of the photos that my hubby, GJ, has taken of them show only a blur, as they dash off in full motion to do something far more interesting.

This one, Dobbie, is the worst culprit.   In a blink of an eye, while you're distracted by filling a water bottle he's off.   He jumps silently off the sofa, scuttles off under the Belgian dresser and he's off and away!   Without even a cry of 'High-ho, Silver' to draw attention to his escape...

This is him in a rare moment of repose, being grizzled by me on the sofa and squeaking in a diva-like fashion, "I'm ready for me close-up now, Mr De Mille!"

This week, the babies (I know, I'm totally lost, given that I've taken to calling them 'babies!') have been subjected to some dark glances from friends and visitors.   If looks could kill, I ask you! 

...Bizarrely, two of our acquaintances have experienced frightening vehicle break-downs involving 1) a new car and 2) a decrepit camper-van.

Both incidents involved destruction of the rubber tubing carrying diesel to the vehicles.   Apparently, rats had chosen to gnaw through the pipes, rendering both vehicles immobile.   The damage was extensive.   There was no CCTV footage of the alleged offenders and no eye-witnesses so, under the circumstances, I am 'holding my powder' as they say.   However, both events had devastating consequences and brought considerable expense to the parties involved...   In the case of the camper-van, half a Mars bar had also been scoffed and also some of the bedding and interior decor of the van had been 'tasted'.

Oops!

"It wasn't me", the rat-babies squeak in all innocence and surprisingly in unison.   "Not our type at all.   Not us 'fancy rats'.   No..."

Would you believe them?!

The truth lies in those little beady eyes, methinks.

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

The Heart(h) of a Home...

Last week at work, we had a book sale in aid of charity. I came away with around 12 books, some of which I shall put away for Christmas pressies for GJ, one will do for Grizz for his Uni course, fingers crossed...

Another book, I kid you not, was to help me to deal with a certain fault of mine, it was called PROCRASTINATION

... It had hardly been read. The pages unsullied.

How's that for procrastination?!!

I've left it at work, to read in the quiet spells we're experiencing, now our work is drying up, and before the Posh Boys make up their minds about closing us down, and shipping us out, or they just sack us anyway because we're currently Public Enemy Number One... Grrrrrrrrrr...

Anyhoo, where was I?

Ah yes, after years of procrastinating; Shilly-shallying, putting off and putting off...

After almost a decade of living in an unfinished home, while it crumbled about my person, me sitting in the midst of it like Miss Havisham in her widow-bride's weeds of lace...

I am finally putting wrongs to right.

A week or so ago, my neighbour started work knocking out the fireplace in my sitting room. I recently acquired a wood-burning stove, to see us warm through the winter. My hearth had been boarded up by the previous owners, terrified of the open fire that raged fiercely in windy weather.

And there are wonderfully windy nights in the winter in them thar hills!

So, the fake wooden carpentry box of a fireplace has now been removed. The original wide fireplace opening has been cleared of its rubble and broken bricks for perhaps the first time in ooh, eighty years. At that time, the original lead-blackened cooking range was removed and a Thirties' ceramic Art Deco hearth was put in its place. After that there was the Parkray Bonfire of Eighties' Vanities. ...And then the fire was boarded over. Blinded. Buried...

Now I have a five feet-ish wide hearth, its opening to hold our Aga Little Wenlock is around four foot in height...

It's very sweet. Me likey...

It needs some brick acid run over its one hundred year old bricks and then some re-pointing of the knubby bits. Then there'll be white-wash, and next plaster will be applied to coat the uneven outside brickwork.

I think I'm going to paint the wall a dark raspberry colour... I have a little Farrow and Ball tester pot of paint to try.

The coal-black stove will finally be levered into place after sand-coloured Indian stones are set down to make a hearth, to act as the touch-stone of my home...

I'm coming over all Pagan again with all of the elements free to run through my home.

Mind you, I have been sitting here for more than a week, covered from head to foot in one hundred year old soot from the exposed bricks.

I look like I'm on the run from Fagin's gang of boy-thieves in a showing of Oliver!

The house is filthy everywhere...

I found a mouse's nest (now vacant, but the chewed up cardi was a clue) behind the sofa...

GJ has black-speckled freckles...

Everything we touch gets covered with grimy finger-prints like a scene from CSI Miami!

Anyhoo, does anyone know where I can get hold of a rustic oak mantel shelf?

I'd settle for a railway sleeper!

Anyone got one up their sleeve?!

Something I wrote earlier...

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