Friday, 1 July 2011

Jigsaw Puzzling ... The Crumbly Way

Just lately, with the weather being a bit showery, blowy and somewhat cooler than I need for sitting outside my tin hut, we've been filling some of our leisure time with that age old pastime of jigsaw puzzles. I can sit outside [shivering] when it's moderately draughty with the aid of wind breaks - in some sort of maze configuration; courtesy of my grumpy old man - but even I have to give in when I'm being bombarded with bits of tree.

This puzzling was ok for a short time, I like doing the edges then I rapidly lose interest and just do a bit when I feel like it ... not my grumpy old man, he plods doggedly on and on and on.

Well, that's not such a bad thing, you may say, at least it's keeping him quiet ... You think?!?

There's a constant commentary of what piece should go where ... And what's that bit doing up there? mutter, mutter ... I need another bit shaped like that, now where is it? rattle, clatter as the pieces are shuffled in the box ... aha, ha ha ha, there it is, fancy that being there ... now I'm looking for a piece with a bit of blue on it, mumble mumble ... oh, that's not it, hmm, what if I turn it round, no not that way .. aha! Tap, tap tap - as he made it quite clear to the puzzle, the cat and myself that - yes, that piece did indeed fit there!

Occasionally I'll waft past, pick up a piece [one of his bits] and put it in while he's not looking - not always in the right place ... I am horrible remember. This is mostly because all he lets me do is the sky whilst hogging all the interesting and colourful bits for himself. Even then he had to interfere, because whenever he found a piece of mine that fitted, he strategically placed it right where I'd see it [practically touching where it needed to be].

Once I'd discovered he was doing this - it took at least four pieces of puzzle before I cottoned on - I threw the offending bit of puzzle back in the box, shook it up and threatened that if he touched my sky once more I'd chuck the lot on the floor. I'm like that - I've done the odd crossword where someone has looked over my shoulder to give me an answer [a very, very, very bad idea]. The crossword ends up thrown to one side, my arms are folded, the bottom lip sticks out and a major sulk ensues - yes I am childish, but if I want help [highly unlikely - stamp, stamp] I'll ask for it.

This puzzling has of course taken over my dining table, meaning that we've had to use trays for dinner, something I'm not happy with. Yesterday I decided that we WERE sitting at the table and plonked the place mats on top of his puzzle. I could see him wincing and his hands were hovering protectively above it. I say puzzle, it's mostly pieces as we've finished the one with my sky [foxglove cottage], and only recently started another one.

'Oh, are we having dinner on here? ... I really ought to put some sort of cover on' ... 'Leave it!' I ordered as I flirted bits out of the way to place coasters and condiments - I've told you, I'm proper evil I am.

On this latest puzzle, he's started sorting out different areas on a tray [yet again leaving me the sky]. All was relatively peaceful - apart from the obligatory running commentary - when THUD, clatter, as he dropped the tray. I didn't even turn around to look at the scattered puzzle. I sat firmly glued to my spot, I know he'll be struggling to pick them up with his chewed finger nails, but he shouldn't make us jump [both me and the cat]. Hmmm, he's very quiet, that makes a nice change.

About an hour later ... THUD, clatter! Oh bugger it, I'd better help him this time ... 'There's no need', he announces while holding is hand up in a 'stay right there' kind of way. Oh yes, I can see why. There he is merrily scooping the puzzle pieces up with MY spatula. He's a right tinker with my stuff - you really don't want to know what he does with a carving knife and, ooooh, my poor tea-towels ...

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Be nice, I'm very sensitive.