Last Trip Home

I hate today. I've got to put everything away and wigwam the furniture - this includes the bed I'm still in, and not wanting to get out of.

All this has to be done around a frantically yowling cat - who is also still in bed yet - I'd put her outside in her carrier but it's too cold and damp for her old bones.

Then we've got to splodge through wet muddy grass to the car - which is parked miles away near the gas tank, with bags and bags and bags of important stuff that I can't live without.

Fingers crossed the car is ok this time. The last few years it's thrown a wobbly for our last trip home. First it wasn't firing on all cylinders and we were really struggling to get going after every junction ... 0-60 in 10 mins.

Then two years ago we'd packed the car, went for a last look at the sea and his window wouldn't go back up.

It was getting dark, pouring with rain, and the AA man - who couldn't fix it - drained the battery and we had to stay another day - I had to unload the car - again splodging through wet muddy grass while the window had a plastic bag taped over it.

Thankfully the on-site boys got us going next morning with jump leads from the tractor and the window was - temporarily - fixed at a local garage.

Mr Grumpy was NOT his usual happy self and I was in meltdown because we'd got a wedding to go to and my dress still didn't fit ...

Knitting, Working And Daddy-Long-Leg Sandwiches

I have rekindled my relationship with an old hobby, namely knitting. Now this does not mean I churn out fifty odd chunky knit cardi's on a weekly basis - like some people I know - no, all it means it that I knit the same scarf at least eight [and rising] times.

Why? You may well ask, well:

1. It's enormous fun.
2. I get so far and realise it won't be long enough so cast on fewer stitches.
3. I've found a way to make the expensive stuff eke out ... because - answers on a post it please - either ... a) I'm a genius or b) I grudgingly took a friend's  advice.

I'm not completely alone in this loony knit-fest, my next door but one caravan neighbour is far worse with these scarves and she's a proper knitter!

It was while knitting my first scarf for the - probable - sixth time that I became aware that I was knitting a few daddy-long-legs into it ... this was not mentioned in the knitting pattern! So I removed them ... er, oops ... their legs.

I had never in my life seen so many daddy-long-legs - this was at Skeggy, I've seen none since we got home - it became impossible to take a deep breath for fear of sucking one in. I heard my GOM coughing and clearing his throat a few times and can only assume that he'd forgotten to breathe through his nose.

I was working one morning, peering through my magnifying light - as you do - when I briefly looked away. When I looked back at the teeny weeny thing I'd picked up, I nearly knocked the lamp over, tipped the table up and chucked the lot on the floor [all in one movement]. Not only was my spira-doo-dah there to be inspected, I was also clutching - between left thumb and forefinger - a chuffin ENORMOUS daddy-long-legs! I'm not afraid of them, nor spiders, but unexpectedly close up, lit up and magnified is not nice.

A couple of days later while all packed up ready for home and waiting for the cat, my grumpy old man decided to make a sandwich. This was to either eat there if pussykins didn't turn up at a reasonable time, or take with us for a snack on the way home. The little bugger - cat, not grumpy - has a habit of turning up at just the wrong time so we're starving by the time we get home.

Anyway, time was moving on, the cat watched us playing bowls behind the tin hut - at a safe you-can't-reach-me-from-there-ner-ner-ne-ner-ner distance - when we decided to go in and eat.

Mmmmm, ham and daddy-long-leg sandwiches ... well I found one leg in the mayonnaise - between the ham and the lettuce. And the rest of it - well it's too late now ...