Thursday, 16 June 2011

Locked Out And The Alleged Revenge

We came back to dear old Langley Mill last Monday after being in our 'tin hut by the sea' for a couple of weeks. We started our usual round of family visits Tuesday afternoon. When we arrived home from the first [number two daughter] grumpy went in - I think - but I noticed our neighbours coming up the street so stayed to have a word with them.

The 'word' was 'are you putting the kettle on?'

Being the lovely person I am - and not forgetting that this is the same neighbour who feeds my fish, waters my plants [and weeds] and takes in all my parcels when I'm not there - I agreed that 'yes, I'm putting the kettle on, tea or coffee?', and we all set off down the entry.

Oh, strange, the door is locked ... 'he did come this way didn't he?' - this is not the daft question it sounds because my grumpy old man has a habit of veering off if he spots a victim someone to talk to [who isn't quick enough to avoid him].

'Shall I fetch my key?' asked my neighbour ... 'No he must be in so his key will be in the lock.'

We all shouted, I knocked on the door and dining room window. Surely he's heard us, he can't be that far away - the house just isn't big enough, if next doors cat breaks wind I can hear it - and believe it or not, we can be further apart in our caravan than we can at home.

I could see into the front room from where we stood because the door was open. Hmm, I bet he's looking at his 'hosses' on the front room telly. Off I went back up the entry to knock on the front room window - no use knocking on the front door, he'd ignore it. Sure enough there he sits, remote in hand, racing results on ... 'You've locked me out, you moron!' ... 'What?' this reply was accompanied by his best glazed expression.

I know that I'm way down his list of important stuff - I hover between the car and the cat ... in that order [well after the hosses], but how can he forget me like that? Boo hoo.

The following morning ... quite early, I opened the blind and bounced back into bed awaiting my coffee - the bounce was my signal to my butler/chauffeur/grumpy old man to wake up and go and make the coffee. Unfortunately being only a sniff away from geriatric-dom myself, I misjudged the bounce and caught the GOM on his knee with my toe nail. 'Oops'. '. . . . . . .' Oh that's odd I expected more reaction than, well, nothing.

Two minutes later - we're in genuine geriatric territory here so a delayed reaction can be excused - the GOM announced that he was going to get up and inspect his knee; where I'd obviously caused irreparable damage with at least a three inch long cut, probably right down to the bone, he would then hobble downstairs in considerable pain and under great duress to find a bandage and make my coffee.

'It's bleeding!' ... It wasn't, he couldn't even manage to squeeze one spot out of it. 'I'm going to tell everyone and write about it on t'internet.' Yeah, right. This is the same man who falls out with his wireless mouse, declaring that it won't go where he wants it until I take it out of his hand and turn it around.

He demanded I take photos of the injury in case he needed to make a claim against me. He needn't start this tit for tat who-has-caused-who-most-injuries because I'm afraid I'd win hands down - not to mention that he is responsible for at least two broken toes

Only last week he thought he'd give me a hug whilst shaving - a bad idea, don't do it, at least not while it's still switched on - the end result was me minus lots [well about 5 strands] of hair pulled out by the roots and him having to dismantle his shaver to get them out. There's no wonder we spend most of our time giggling ...

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Be nice, I'm very sensitive.