Inner Spring Spirits

Kevin Cartwright, aged 56, of Worchester believes he has suffered months of insomnia because his mattress is haunted.

He said: “I am very happy where I live and it is a lovely old property. But since I returned from a holiday to see my children in Canada in September last year, it has felt like someone or something is in my mattress.

“It’s hard to explain and people think I’m crazy when I tell them, but it feels as if they are pushing it. It is driving me mad that I just can’t get a full night’s sleep.”

Mr Cartwright has had eight friends test his bed, four of whom had similar experiences with some feeling “very scared”. Three psychics visited and attributed the phenomenon to the ghosts of playful children. Wouldn’t you know it? Even in the afterlife kids won’t stop jumping on the damned bed. Most of the spirits left with the psychics – it’s nice to be with someone who understands you – but there’s still one left, tormenting Mr Cartwright.

My theory – vermin infestation – seems discredited as Mr Cartwright has replaced his mattress to no effect. Nor has an electric blanket had any effect. The article I read doesn’t say whether Mr Cartwright has tried the obvious solution and slept on the couch. If he’s haunted by the spirit of a disgruntled wife, that should appease her.


162 Responses

  1. If this catches on, I see an opening for an aerosol blend of moggadon, ritalin, and lavender, tastefully marketed as ‘Poltergiest spray’.

    If it wasn’t so hot I’d be rushing to the patents office, hasta.

    Now, where’s the remote for the air con?

  2. Mmm… Mogadon and lavender. I don’t think I need any Ritalin, but what the hell? Put me down for a case, Quokka.

    I’d be even keener if it came in a ghost-shaped atomiser that glowed in the dark.

  3. I’ll talk to my people in marketing.

    So, Sunday.
    haven’t heard back from Monster so we might count him and Mrs. Yuppy as maybes.
    I understand Fifi has let the air out of GBs tyres to hinder his escape from the oubliette and I don’t think Mayhem can make it.
    So I think it might just be the three of us.
    Did you want to leave your car at my place so you can have a cocktail, or do you need instructions so you can meet us there?

  4. I think I’ll stick to water, so I don’t fall asleep/veer off the road/fail a breathalyzer on the way back to the Coast, but I’d love directions, please.

    My map-reading skills are on a par with my welding ability.

  5. Woos.
    You’re just scared of coming here because you know I’ll unload a kitten on you.

    That’s the address, but you’re better off doing a google map search on than asking me how to get anywhere.

    I usually print that up and then break out the fleuro pen to mark my journey. Even so I get lost because on a map, I can’t tell left from right and backwards from forwards.
    Hard to believe that my father was a navigator for the RAAF. I blame the Luftwaffe for damage to the family mapping gene.

    Bottom line is, if you know how to find your way along Lytton Road to the Hawthorne & or Balmoral Cinemas, its easy.

    Its in Oxford Street about a block past the cinemas, on the same side, and overlooking that big park opposite Coles that always turns into a lake when it rains.

  6. Hehehe. We still haven’t completely resolved the question of whether or not our dog would attempt to snack on a kitten. She still charges around the chook yard from time to time with what seems to be a fair bit of bloodlust. Around the outside of the yard, I meant. Obviously, we don’t let her in.

    Oxford Street? Too easy. I’ll see you there. With bells on, and bearing photos of Catty and Greybeard to place, ceremonially, in the sulking corner.

  7. My brother already makes a similar concoction, Quokka. Only his was beer and moggadon, and instead of an aerosol dispenser, he pours it directly into his mouth. He even had a little song about it, but I can never remember the words. But that’s o.k. He can only remember the words before he has it – never after.

    I think I might try some on Sunday, while you lot are out enjoying yourselves.


  8. I think that’s called retro-ale amnesia, Catty.

    You also get it with head injuries and alien abduction.

  9. There was once an old Queenslander on Sturt Street in Townsville, that had been converted into five fully furnished one bedroom flats. They were cheap, and it was walking distance to work. Yay! But my first night there was horrible. Nightmares, lumpy mattress, cold sweats, etc. The next night saw me sleeping on a brand new mattress. I stuck the landlady’s lumpy mattress in a shed at the back of the communal carport.

    I’d been there for about 3 or 4 months when a neighbour mentioned that my flat’s previous tenant had died. On that mattress. Ewwww!

    But that’s not my worst mattress story. Another time I moved into a share house. On my second evening there, I overheard a discussion between the other tenants. They were wondering whether or not to tell me that my bed had previously been occupied by a bikie with crabs. They decided not to tell me. I didn’t stay there long.

  10. You know you’ve had some bad bed experiences when The Death Mattress of Doom is not your WORST mattress story.

    A friend of mine rang up over Christmas and my Mum answered.

    My Mum “So, Trent (names have been changed to avoid litigation), how was your Christmas?”

    Trent “Not so good, I got crabs.”

    My Mum “Why, don’t you like them? Are you allergic?”

    Before she could go on to impart a lovely recipe for seafood sauce, Trent and my hysterical gales of laughter alerted her that something was up.

  11. As Kevin Cartwright (56) has changed his matress to no avail, perhaps someone shouldf take a peek at what is going on inside his pyjamas!

  12. Oh Stafford! You are a one.

  13. Haunted pyjama pants? Now I’ve heard everything.

  14. It’s a well-known scientific fact that ghosts can’t stand flannelette, so winter nights should be free of ghoulies, ghosties, long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night.

    In fact, everyone stays away when you’re wearing flannelete pj’s.

  15. And granny nighties.

  16. Not to mention granny pants.

    Unless you’re Bridget Jones, of course.

  17. True, but then, who wants to sleep with Hugh Grant?

  18. Nooooo….
    Sooner or later someone has to say transgender sex workers and Liz Hurley and then we’ll have to debate WTF is wrong with her to think being groped by Warney is a step up.

    Thinking of anyone being groped by Warney gives me hives and indigestion.

    I need the blue pills.
    Quickly! Gaaaah.

  19. Here, have some of mine. Try dissolving them in vodka. I can highly recommend it.

    Actually, being groped by Warnie IS a step up from Hugh Grant.

  20. Ick. You reckon?
    I think sleazy actors and sleazy cricketers are pretty much on a par with each other in terms of their evolution from primordial pond slime.

    Not that I have a high opinion of cricketers wives, or footballers wives, but I do feel sorry for Warney’s wife given the years of public humiliation she’s taking over his antics.

  21. Pros (including Divine Brown, hehehe):
    (1) Hugh Grant is English, Warnie is Australian.
    (2) As far as we know, Warnie has never paid a ladyman for a blowjob. Warnie gets his oral fun free from married English nurses.
    (3) Hugh Grant culdn’t bowl a decent delivery if you held a gun to his head.

    (1) Shane Warne has frosted tips, a tandoori tan and you just know his hairdresser has to talk him out of a mullet every time he gets his hair styled.
    (2) The whole sex-text, can’t-keep-it-in-his-trousers-even-in-a-school-of-pirhanas thing.

    Fop versus bogan.

    BTW, you looked lovely under the multi-coloured light of the Turkish chandelier yesterday, Catty. I’m very sorry that you enjoyed your cocktail so much and we were so busy chatting that I didn’t notice you’d slipped under Greybeard until it was time to leave.

  22. I noticed, but I thought it would be indiscreet to pass comment.

    Perhaps we should also apologize for spilling al that yoghurt sauce from our dripping kofta/chicken burgers all over them. By the time we went to the rescue, the photos had stuck together and some appendages were torn off in the attempts to separate them.

  23. Oh, that was yoghurt sauce!

    What a relief.

  24. That’s what I’m telling myself.

    Wish me luck, I’m about to go into school and wrangle with the FK ups over my enrollment. Am quite looking forward to the concept of saying FKU if they can’t fix it and not studying at all this semester. Just think of all the dusting and window cleaning I could do. Or perhaps pay someone else to do, while I finish re-reading the Harry Potter series.

  25. Good luck.

    Better make it “pay someone else to do”. Those are some lengthy tomes. Plus, life’s too short to dust. Or polish.

  26. Well, they’ve said they’re sorting it out and they’ll get back to me.

    I handed them the photocopy that I kept of my enrollment forms (when the eportal wouldn’t work to take it, as happens every semester) and I reminded them of the series of FK ups they’d managed to pull out of their hats last semester and said that if there was going to be another one, I wouldn’t be pleased.

    They had a back up excuse (standard training manual page 2) of ‘the computer crashed so all student enrollments have had to be done manually and Kylie has been working after hours to fix it for nearly 2 weeks.’

    My theory is that if they stopped employing people called Kylie to operate their computers they wouldn’t have half as many problems with them.

  27. I’m surprised there wasn’t some additional colour about how poor dear Kylie has had to brave flood waters and kayak in to do her overtime, despite the complete destruction of her home and that of all her friends and extended family.

    Why don’t you send her a nice, contagious box of aged sludge to express your gratiitude?

  28. Why settle for sludge when Janet has sewerage fed rats decaying in her kitchen cabinetry?

    I suspect there is no such thing as Kylie the computer tech.
    She’s always in a meeting, on the phone, on a training course, or on holidays if you want to speak with her.

    I think this is special school’s very own version of Kayser Suze, who gets to commit every heinous crime against technology and who FKS up every bit of paperwork but who, mysteriously, can never be found when a student rocks in to do some ass kicking.

    The other three staff, who had nothing to do but sip coffee and shuffle paper, stared at me innocently and assured me that whatever my problems were, Kylie would sort it all out.

    Basic Training Manual page 3 – if something goes wrong, blame Kylie
    And just pray the students never hear that Kylie is an inflatable sex toy hanging from a noose in the admin staff room, surrounded by death threats and gift wrapped boxes of toxic river sludge.

  29. Funny thing, but the image of Janet’s decaying sewerage bloated rats has quite put me off the sausages I was planning for dinner.

    I wonder if I can talk the children into some lentil burgers.

  30. If they were mine, they wouldn’t get dinner unless they caught the rats.

    Is it possible I’m starting to sound like I’ve been around cats for just a little too long?

  31. Well, you haven’t yet greeted me by trying to smooth my ruffled fur with your spit, Quokka, so you’re still with us.


  32. Mmmmm…. Bloated rat sausages….

    Which reminds me. How did Mayhem’s Mum go during the flood? The oubliette isn’t renowned for being watertight.

    I’d have asked Greybeard myself, but there was apparently a minor incident with a cocktail menu and some yoghurt.

  33. Well, you remember how she trained the rats in synchronised swimming? They took shifts treading water to hold her up, I think.

    Either that or he moved her to higher ground on the turkey mound and set Colin to guard her. The rats ended up, swollen with sewerage, dead behind Janet’s kitchen cabinets.

  34. Yes, you’d think it would be easier to fob a lively teenage cat off on her but no. I think her life is in limbo till she gets a decision on her fight with council.

    Catty, you probably missed that one.
    If you’re interested in Janet’s fight with council (the very thought of doing battle with council makes me shudder and twitch) we can probably redirect you to her website.

    So how are your rats Morgana?
    Given there were no reports of rats falling from the ceiling, vomiting blood when you pulled into the garage, I take it they’ve either resisted the Talon or else gone next door to die.

    Isn’t it wonderful the weather’s finally changed, well, for those of us in SEQ anyway. Made the mistake, though, of waltzing into the change room at the pool this morning, grinning in the 24C pouring rain, and said to a swimming buddy ‘Isn’t it great to see the rain…’ – and be met with a frown.
    ‘ooh. Whoops. Rewind. I hope you weren’t affected by the floods.’

    Tact, never my strong suit.

  35. I’m actually a little bit chilly sitting here. It’s marvellous! I’m hoping it’ll stay like this for the rest of the week, with a late change on Friday for the cricket.

    Rat update: No terminal vermin twitching in puddles of their own blood on our return home, and they haven’t got into the sack of chook food I left in the garage.

    Diagnosis: Successful poisoning achieved. Talon, I salute you.

  36. So cruel! So cruel! How could you do it, Madam? How could you put Talon down in the same shed as poor Al?

    Won’t somebody think of the chained slaves?

  37. No, Catty, it’s fine. Al’s in the shed out the back so no-one walking by on the road can hear his heavily-accented pleas for mercy. And he’s not manacled – I keep him there with the force of my will and the ground-up zombie dust I sprinkle into his food.

    What can’t you do with a little blowfish toxin and some magic mushrooms?

  38. successfully re-enroll.

  39. Just to clarify, the eportal still isn’t working and apparently neither are the admin staff.
    1 week till college resumes.

    At least it’s still cool.
    I don’t like this global warming thing, I wonder how we could reverse it and trigger another ice age?

  40. No thanks. Who wants permanent beanie hair?

    When my computer stuffs up, my first response is hitting it and swearing. It usually works. Maybe Quokka could try this technique on the Uni computer? Or maybe the staff? Kylie first.

  41. All abuse of admin staff aside, ladies, I think I’ve found the perfect purse for Quokka. It’s got a nice strong clasp to close and it’s black, with “hush money” embroidered in silver.

    Shall I nip back and buy it for you?

  42. Ah, the ‘carrot or stick’ debate.

    I prefer the stick method. If you offer someone a bribe, and they accept, there is always the possibility that they will renege if a bigger, better bribe is offered. Whereas the threat of a severe arse-whooping tends to stop people from reneging. Also, when it comes to choosing between two bribes, most people will sway towards the briber with the most muscle. (Especially if that muscle is beneath young, male skin. Oiled, of course.)

    I still think Quokka should endeavour to instill fear into the hearts of the Uni administration staff – assuming that they have hearts.

  43. Morgana…Tempting, very tempting.
    Although I did just buy two little clasp purses (and Allan had no idea that crocodiles could be red or purple, psht…) when I went to Carindale the other day – and on arrival discovered I’d forgotten my medicare forms, which was the sole reason I had for being there.

    Which shop were you in?
    Obviously, now that I’ve found my medicare forms, I will have to return to the halls of horror at Westfield, so if there’s the same shop out there they may have more just like them. Otherwise I’ll have nothing better to do but to head for the donut stall.

    There’s a notice on the college website promising that they will email us our enrollment details in the next 24 hours as their website is still FKD. I’m sure it’s a lie, but we’ll see.

    And I’m with Catty, although being that Aunt Irma is due to arrive I’m beyond wanting to instill fear into any hearts at admin, and I’m onto thinking sharpened oak stakes dipped in garlic and holy water are a better way to go.

  44. That time of the month already? No wonder I can’t leave the hot cross buns alone.

    It’s a gift shop up here called Home Effects. I think. Home something, anyway. If you have trouble finding one, let me know.

    Staking is a dicey business, however. You’re on surer ground with a nice old-fashioned decapitation, don’t you think?

  45. Hey, yeah! Madam’s right, Quokka. We’re all overdue for a Zombiepocalypse practise run. I bags the razor wire!

  46. The razor wire’s all yours, Catty.

    I’m so cranky I’d like to see how much mutilation I can inflict with my bare hands.

  47. I’d say good, because I know where to send you, but I’ve said that before and it seems to have vanished into some black hole of the blogosphere.

    As has a comment I’ve made at Catty’s about faeries and their knickers.

    Shall see if the time delay effect kicks in tomorrow.
    Stupid computers.

  48. Well, you’re not circling the plughole in my spam trap, Quokka, so its a mystery. Perhaps your missing comments are turning up at Twitter? That would explain why the Twitter feed never makes much sense.

    BTW, I found that purse on the Net. It’s lined in pink dollar sign print!

  49. Is there a purse in the shape of a mouth? I find the idea of pursed lips amusing.

  50. Good one, Catty. But funnily enough, there is:

    If you’ve got nearly 300 bucks to waste… sorry, I mean ‘invest’. Take advantage of the weak US dollar and buy one in every colour!

  51. Three hundred bucks? It’s not THAT amusing!

    Hey, what do you know? When I looked at the price tag, MY lips pursed! Forget the website, I’m going to put my money where my mouth is.

    (Pity I don’t have any $100 notes. They would have been the only green thing to go in my mouth all day. Except possibly the bread.)

  52. Catty, you really should eat your greens: green m and m’s; mint chocolate chip icecream; mint-filled freddos; small sprig of parsley on a huge, oily parmigiana; pesto sauce…

    Mmm… pesto.

  53. It must be an Aunt Irma thing, coz I’ve been craving pesto too.
    And would be seriously tempted to take myself off for solo breakfast down at Lock & Load today, if I didn’t have to take the cat to the vet. Her second hair cut for the summer, she’s been bringing up fur balls for the past week and I’m getting rather sick of stepping in cat vomit.

    I’d suggest another breakfast down there except every time I go there I wind up shaking my head at the slackness of the staff. The ‘tude is extending to the kitchen, last time I ordered scrambled eggs they gave me a really pissy little serve & it’s not like I’m a big eater.

    Aunt Irma found me earlier, FK she’s a miserable companion.

  54. Oh, duh, brain fog, the purse is very cute but it doesn’t look as sturdy as the croc skin one’s I’ve bought and being bright red and purple, they’ll be easier to find in the depths of any hand bag than something so black and discreet.

  55. Funny, that. After years of discreet and stylish black purses, I lashed out last month on a bright pink one with garish metallic flowers on it. It is ugly and cheap, and I adore it.

  56. That’s a shame, they’ve got such an ambience riddled courtyard.

    You know where we should go for our next lunch? Yum Cha. I lurve Yum Cha. In fact, instead of tomatoes on crackers, I wish I had some fluffy BBQ pork buns, crispy fried tentacles and tasty, tasty prawn dumplings RIGHT NOW.

    Mmm… dumplings.

    You adore us, too, don’t you Catty? I hope you’re not suggesting we’re ugly and cheap!

  57. That depends.
    I only go to yum cha with people who carry adrenalin in their briefcases, speak fluent Chinese, and can remind the staff of the up close and personal connotations of the word ‘Anaphylaxis’ when every single dish comes past.

    However slack the service is in West End, they have thus far failed to kill me. So that’s a point in their favor, and they do serve pesto at breakfast.

    Well, kids, I’ve managed to enroll in one of the units that I wanted and they’re working on the other one.

    The enrollments officer at special school tried to tell me I hadn’t fulfilled the pre-reqs for clinic, and when I said ‘Really? Have you looked at my unit history?’ – she was most apologetic.

    Idiots all.

    Higher learning should come with a mental health warning.

  58. I would have thought that in the last twenty years you’d filled every bloody prereq.

    They should just give in and make you Dean, or Vice Chancellor, or Queen of the Damned, or something.

    I can’t rid my head of a vision of two perfectly poached eggs, swimming in pesto, on a raft of crunchy, lavishly buttered wholewheat toast. I wish I had a cook to make it for me, and a butler to serve me. And maids for the washing up.

    * sigh *

  59. Perhaps I should put Queen of the Damned on my business cards. And while I’m at it, I’m get a desk plaque made for Kylie that says ‘Queen of the I don’t give a damns’ in honor of her performance these last two months.

    Well, I’m enrolled.
    Gasp, shock.
    And I have the forms to prove it.
    Just in case that gets eaten by whatever supervirus is moving through the college system like a nasty bout of e coli.

    The gates of hell yawn open to swallow me on February 21, not that I need to tell you, you’ll hear my screams.
    I’m already suffering from trawling the halls of Westfield seeking suitable shirt type attire that passes as business wear. Do you know how many FKN frills there are out there this season?

    Frills belong on babies christening gowns and toddlers bloomers. Not my chest.

    I want pesto too.
    Got to admit I do love that crusty sourdough they serve at Flock & Gloat.
    Although I don’t know what the access is like for Lawn Mower man, and from the sounds of that ACL he’s going to be off his feet for a while.

  60. Never fear, Madam. I adore my purse like I adore Hot Chicken Heros – because they are cheap and nasty. You lot, however, I adore the way one adores a Lois Vuitton handbag, or a pair of Jimmy Choos. Except you’re better.

    So, Feb 21st is the big day, hey Quokka? I hope you have stocked up on valium, and remember to get your daily recommended dose of multivitamins and faff.

  61. Quokka, try op shopping in some of the sprauncier suburbs. You’ll find high quality garments at a quarter or less of the price. Because they’re a season or so out-of-date you’ll also skip the frills. After all, you want to look like a health professional, not a Romatic poet… or Austin Powers.

    I’m pretty sure that to get Greybeard and his chair into the courtyard of L & L we’d need a crane. And lollipop people to direct traffic around the crane. And a WH&S dude. And hardhats. Does the House With No Steps do lunch?

    We love you too, Catty. Like the flowers love the rain, and two middle-aged women with PMS love pesto.

  62. I knew there was a reason i was up at idiot o’clock this morning 😦 It’s so I have time to pop in and say hello before I take off for the wilds of Werribee 🙂

    Catty, I’ll pop in quickly tonight for a weather update if you’re so inclined, but after that ladies, I’m off the air for a week. I have your number Catty, unless it’s changed, in which case you best let me know. I’ll give you a call once I know my movements. J is being a bit cagey about plans for the week. (No I don’t think his plans involve actual cages)!!

    While I’m gone, please be nice to the bearded on and Al, try to behave, and kick some Aunt Irma ASS!! BTW did I mention that my Aunt Irma days appear to be behind me forever??? 🙂 🙂 🙂

  63. Mayhem! Have a fabulous time, lovey and please take Catty out for lunch at least once. If she doesn’t get out of the sulking corner soon, she’ll get bedsores.

    Conratulations on achieving The Blessed Menopause, too. If you have any leftover sanitary products, there’s a woman on Etsy who’ll turn them into puppets. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.

    Bon Voyage 🙂 xx oo

  64. Have fun together in Melbourne, you two..

    And congratulations of being free of Aunt Irma, Mayhem.

    I’d stay and chat, but college have created yet another FK up in their computer system, for which they’re again blaming me.
    I’d offer details, but I think one loud scream of frustration should cover it. God, I can’t wait to get out of there & graduate.

    Have a fun day, kids.

    I have to try to find the IMAC start up disk. I figure the fairies have hidden it so when I go hunting I’m taking a can of mortein and the fly swat.
    Vengeance will be mine.

    • Hairspray is better than Mortein. It doesn’t kill them, it just immobilises their wings. That way you get to watch them suffer during the smooshing process. Mwaha ha ha ha haaaaaa!

  65. That sounds much more glamorous than making honey sandwiches for the Grade 2 teddy bear’s picnic, which is what I’m off to do.

    Do you have any Serenity DVDs, Quokka? For some reason I just got a flash that the IMAC discs would be near there. Or I could just be having a stroke.

  66. Found them.
    They weren’t in my moundering paper tray, as I suspected, but were neatly stacked in the drawer full of disks in my study.

    Meaning that I’m some subconscious level I really don’t want twitter to work any better than it does at the moment…

  67. Twitter has a certain charm.

    It’s so disjointed and arbitrary that it’s like chatting with a Great-Aunt who lost most of her marbles sometime last century.

  68. True.

    We cross posted earlier.

    I hope you used a good strong flavored honey like Leatherwood in those sandwiches. If it’s that insipid stuff from Coles I’ve found that the teddy bears tend to sniff out the talon, which defeats the point of making the damned things in the first place.

  69. Aunty Quokka!

    We don’t want to kill the teddy bears. The teddy bears are our friends. The teddy bears give us snuggly cuddles and frighten away the monsters from under the bed.

    The teddy bears don’t tear into bags of chook food with their vile scrabbly claws and try and nest on the windscreen of the car like the GD rats.

    Leatherwood honey is exquisite, though – like molten flowers. Grade 2, however, got a perfectly servicable ironbark from Byron Bay.

  70. I buy raw Yellowbox from the markets. Not only can you make sandwiches with it, you can also smear it on grazes for faster (if somewhat messy) healing. It also makes a great cough syrup.

    I am SOOOOOO looking forward to catching up with Mayhem! Yaaaaaaay!!!!! I might wait until Sunday to text her, as I’m sure Fireman Sam will not appreciate a ring-tone interrupting his ‘greeting’. Unless, of course, Mayhem has the phone set to vibrate. In which case, I’d better text her at least 50 times on Saturday night. Heh, heh, heh….

  71. You can ring my beh-eh-ehl,
    Ring my bell!

    Where shall we sulk, Quokka? All of my corners are full of clutter, but I could chase the dog off the couch. The children will be outside, sharpening old dog bones into spear heads as is their wont. Hey, I figure they’ll be prepared to defend themselves and hunt for food, come Zombigeddon.

  72. I still think that when they complain of boredom you should give them shovels and remind them that there’s 2 months left of cyclone season and the chickens without a fallout shelter.

    I don’t think I’ve got the energy to sulk, Aunt Irma has drained me of it completely.

    I’m not a teddy bear person (no shit, I hear you say).
    I had Golly and Koala when I was a kid and bit or ripped the heads off pretty much everything else.

    My great niece arrived in the world with a pathological fear of stuffed toys. By the time she was ready to be christened there were over 80 of them concealed in the closet (gifts) because if she caught sight of one before naptime she’d wake screaming with nightmares.

    She must have caught the chucky paranoia gene from me.

  73. Oh, thanks for the reminder. I’d forgotten all about the chicken cyclone bunker and here we are coming up to the weekend, with nothing planned!

    As my spooky old grandma used to say, “Your blood’s worth bottling”, Quokka.

    She wasn’t even Transylvanian or anything.

  74. Yep, that’s a good one.

    I spent 7 years of my share house existence living in a granny flat basement below 2 gay guys in the main house upstairs. One of them was a DJ in a nightclub in the city = free entry to every gay nightclub in town for young Ms. Q, whoo hoo. the best dance music in town and no lecherous men. Double whoo hoo.

    We lived a few doors down from a block of flats that housed war widows. One day my DJ flatmate found one of the widows outside her unit, hysterical because she’d locked herself out. Being young, slender, and rather flexible, he volunteered to climb in through a window 4 stories high out the back & unlock the door..

    The widow was in tears of gratitude when he opened the front door and she was lost for words to tell him how wonderful she thought he was (and she was right). Finally, after a struggle, she clasped his hand in hers and said ‘Lovey, they don’t make ’em like you any more, yer blood’s worth bottlin’,’

    He came home spluttering with laughter and once he was finally able to repeat the story to me we both went off in gales all over again. Unbeknownst to the dear old widow, he was HIV+ & so he spluttered to me ‘My blood worth bottling? I don’t think so.’

  75. Catty dear, my phone will be OFF from time of arrival Saturday. Never mind Fireman Sam not appreciating a ring-tone….

    I was just talking to him on the phone. he said I should be wearing fishnets and stilleto heels when he collects me from the airport. I reminded him that I have NEVER had to play those sorts of games with him, I could turn up in a potato sack and still get my “greeting”. Between pissing himself laughing he was forced to concede the point.

    It’s going to be a VERY good week 😉

  76. A potato sack and fishnets? Oooh, you’ve just given me an idea for the Boss’s Valentines day present on Monday!

    Trust me. He’ll look great in them.

  77. Alexander Downer, move over.

    Another fabulous olde-tymey phrase of praise is “Worth your weight in bottletops.”

    I’ve always wondered if this was actually a sly dig – I mean, bottletops are worthless, aren’t they? Unless they used them as currency during the war, because they had to melt down the coins to make ammo.

  78. I used to work at a snack bar. One day, a gorilla walked in and said “I’ll have a toasted bananana sandwich, please”. Not one to question the obvious (i.e, a talking gorilla), I set about making the sandwich. When I gave it to him, he threw five bottle tops on the counter, and left.

    The next day, he came back. He asked for another toasted bananana sandwich. I made it. (It’s hard to argue with a 400kg simian). He threw another five bottle tops on the counter and left.

    On the third day, he came in and asked for the usual. When I gave him the toasted bananana sandwich, he tossed a garbage can lid on the counter and said, “got change?”

  79. Hehehe. Thanks for the LOL, Catty.

    OMG – you don’t think it was Elvis, do you?

  80. Come to think of it, he did have a quiff. You could be right, Madam.

  81. Although, according to the Elvis Presley cookbook, he liked his banana sandwiches with peanut butter. Fried, not toasted.

    The EP cookbook is a fascinating read. You’d be amazed how many dishes call for Coca-Cola.

  82. Crikey, he liked his bacon, didn’t he? No wonder he got a bit porky – they say we are what we eat.

    (Note to self. Never eat Redeye Gravy. Ewwwww!)

  83. Mmm… bacon.

    Why do they call it Redeye Gravy? Does it make your corneas burn, or keep you awake all night?

  84. With all that caffeine, I’d say it’d keep you awake.

    Huh. If I want caffeine-drenched food, I’ll stick to chocolate. Or tiramisu. Or chocolate coated coffee beans. Or coffee cake. Or….

    Damn. Now I’m hungry.

  85. When Americans say “coffee cake”, I don’t think they mean a cake flavoured with coffee, though.

    I love reading Janet Evanovich and she makes frequent reference to Tastykakes and Entenmann’s coffee cake. As far as I can make out, a coffee cake is what we’d call a teacake. And I really want to try a Butterscotch Krimpet.

    Bloody hell, Americans. What with the whole jelly/jello thing, there’s a lot of culinary confusion going on.

  86. I just got the Boss to whip up a batch of pizza dough. Then I made everyone their own little pizza. There were vegemite and cheese, Margarita, barbecue salami, and chocolate marshmallow. I had one of the chocolate marshmallow ones. Dang, were they goooooood!

  87. Mmm… chocolate marshmallow pizza.

    Do you use raspberry jam instead of tomato sauce on the base? I wonder if jersey caramels would melt on a pizza…

  88. I spread on a thick coating of Nutella, and then scatter the marshmallows and white chocolate chips on. Then I sprinkle dessicated coconut over the whole thing, although crushed nuts will work too. Yes, jersey caramels will melt – but you need to have a rim around the edge of the pizza, so the caramel doesn’t dribble off the sides – that stuff will burn on contact with your baking tray, even if it’s lined with baking paper. Also, chocolate pizzas don’t need to cook for as long as a cheese pizza.

    I wish there was dough left over. I could go a bacon and egg breakfast pizza about now.

  89. Mmm… bacon. I knew there was something missing from the egg and toast I just had for breakfast.

    Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! I love youse all.

  90. LYLT!

  91. Funny, but I’d never bothered to google anything that Stefanie Plum likes to eat. I tried it just now and came up with Entenmann’s pecan danish.

    Now that Aunt Irma has farked orf the thought of chocolate at breakfast is making me queasy and I’m contemplating making spinach and brown rice pie for dinner.

    Suspect my body’s trying to find a suitable antidote for the large chunk of chocolate hedgehog that followed me home from the local bakery yesterday.

  92. Oh, it’s valentine’s day.
    Perhaps I should get in the spirit of things, borrow Moko’s longbow and walk the streets shooting schmoozing couples through the heart.

  93. I’ll send you a long-stemmed rose for every lover you nail, Quokka.

    A woman in the Territory was innocently gardening the other day when she copped a crossbow bolt to the ankle. Her neighbour had been shooting at old car batteries and missed. Old car batteries? Doesn’t he know those damn things are full of lead and acid?

  94. My kidlets asked if we could have pancakes in the shape of lovehearts for dinner tonight. The Boss said they could. Bah. He’s not the one who has to make the bloody things.

    No, I shouldn’t complain. I quite like the idea of pancakes with ice cream, mashed bananana and rich chocolate fudge sauce for dinner.

    I’m not 100% sure, but isn’t it pancake Tuesday tomorrow? Maybe I should make extra, so the kidlets can have pancakes in their lunchboxes tomorrow.

    In case you hadn’t noticed, in our household, vegetables are something that happens to other people’s children.

  95. No, my mistake. Pancake Tuesday isn’t until the 8th of March. That’ll teach me for hanging the calendar upside down.

    What the hell. I think I’ll put pancakes in their lunchboxes anyway.

  96. Mmm… every Tuesday should be pancake Tuesday.

  97. Suddenly I want pfofferjes.
    With lemon wedges and maple syrup.

    As it’s hot I think I’ll just have to slither on back into the air con and make do with a cup of earl grey and a scotch finger biscuit.

    Am I allowed to whine about the humidity and BOM’s failure to produce the rain it promised us yesterday?

    I want our pre-Xmas weather back. Sure, it FKD up the entire state and the flow on effect is still bursting the banks of the Murray, but it was so nice…sigh.

  98. I, too, miss the clammy chill of Christmas past. Whine away, Quokka, humidity has no fans here. I swear it was more hot and sticky last night that it was during the day.

    I think I might have to get a waffle iron. Those waffles my friend made for us last time we were down were delicious. And it’s just like pancake batter with a bit of whipped egg white folded through…. hmmm, it’s sounding a bit like hard work. Are those waffles you pop in the toaster any good.

  99. I have one of those electric waffle irons and it served me well in the days when there were small people here chanting ‘I’m hungry.’
    Now that they’re all grown up/interstate/overseas/learning what life has to teach them about dope and disordered life partners, not so much.
    But it was $35 well spent in the discount electrical store back then. An even better investment was the women’s weekly book of pancakes, waffles and pikelets, if I’m not mixing my titles up.
    I have fond memories of the banana waffle mix I used to whip up, and the hot fudge sauces that IXL used to make…ah…sigh…thinks back…yum…those were the days.

    I bought my nieces a waffle iron when they were teenagers and for months afterwards they had waffles for afternoon tea every single day. So long as you can convince your kids to clean it (and it’s really not that bad, waffle droppings being far preferable to the slime that oozes out of a sandwich press) I say go for it.

  100. Yeah, what Quokka said. I love my Breville waffle maker. Waffles are good noms. So were the heart shaped pancakes we had for dinner. There were so many different toppings on the table, I almost felt embarrassed. Almost, but not quite.

  101. Thanks for the waffle lowdown, ladies. I’m going to Big W and I won’t be satisfied until I come home with a waffle iron.

    You know, I don’t have a sandwich press – I just make toasties under the grill. Do you think the waffle iron could double up… or should I try to make waffles on a George Foreman grill?

    No, cancel that last question. We’ve waffled on enough.

  102. Hehehe! Thanks for the cheese, Madam. It will go well with our toasties.

  103. You know what would be good? A bacon and cheese toasted sandwich, made with waffles instead of bread.

    Mmm… wafflicious.

  104. Well, my nephews used to use the pie maker to make toasties with tinned spaghetti, so I say experimentation is a mark of dedication. Or desperation, being they were an hour’s drive from the nearest pie shop and those were the days before they had their licenses.

  105. Absolutely, Quokka. I use my Breville jaffle maker to make apple turnovers. You just use puff pastry instead of bread, and pie apples for filling. Yum!

  106. I’ve made toasted sandwiches with an iron – but unless you’re very careful with the greaseproof paper you tend to get a lot of cheese on your shirts.

  107. This is why I have a non-stick iron.

  108. Another old fogey saying: “Up here for thinking,” * points to head * “Down there for dancing.” * points to feet *

  109. And this is what happens when you combine the two.

  110. I didn’t know you’d been to Hawaii, Quokka!

    I hope you’re enjoying these lovely cool overcast/rainy days. I got so wet coming back from the library yesterday I actually shivered. I’m hoping it’ll just be a long slow slide into winter from here on.

  111. Ooh yes.
    Another lovely downpour as I type, I’m tempted to go out there and spin in it, Julie Andrews style.
    If only it could last all month.
    Well, with brief lulls in between downpours so that your children can enjoy the great outdoors and not be nagging for a trip to maze mania.

    Catty, seen Mayhem yet?
    I get the bad feeling there will be reports of visits to patisseries and chocolate shops that will have us green with envy.

  112. Oh yes, I’m sure there’ll be pastry and chocolate. And don’t forget the tartufo, either.

    But maybe not yet.

    There was much talk of a greeting, involving prolonged feats of agility and much hose-wrangling. Mayhem may not yet remember where her underwear is.

    Thank you for your kind thoughts re. avoiding Maza Mania. We have a birthday party to go to this weekend that was meant to be in a park – fingers crossed it doesn’t get moved to you-know-where.

  113. I just had a chat with Mayhem – she’s sans computer at present, but wants you to know that all is well, and she will be home Sunday.

    Sadly, her plans were changed for her, so our catch up will have to wait until next month. *sob*

    Also, she’s a bit annoyed that we haven’t been visiting her blog enough. Sounds like a Call-to-Faff, to me. CHARGE!!!

  114. Thanks for the update, Catty. See you over there!

  115. I did visit the blog, and all I saw was spiders and dust, so I figured she’d moved camp to twitter.

    Might be an idea to pop in here and post a link when you’ve got a new topic up, Mayhem. That way we know when your blog is active and there’s a discussion happening there.

  116. Good idea, Quokka. I was glad I visited, though. You’re very informative, Mayhem. And you should tell your Mum to pull her head in and scurry back off down the oubliette where she belongs.

    So, Warnie and Liz Hurley are on the rocks. Seems that news of him getting his rocks off with a porn star rocked the boat. Looks like he won’t be putting a rock on Liz’s finger any day soon, hey?

    Sorry for the above gratuitous comment. I just wanted to see how many different ways I could use ‘rock’.

  117. Oooh, oooh, oooh, now do it with ‘stoned’.

    I won’t attempt it myself. I only ever manage it with egg puns.

  118. Let me add to your rock collection by adding ‘Dumb as a rock’.
    Him for breathing in and out, her for thinking this was an admirable trait in a cricketer.

    • Liz Hurley thinks? That’s a surprise.

  119. You could pick up a few tips from Greybeard, Madam. Going by his comment on today’s Blunty, he’s really good at this. *hrumph*

    (Who me? Jealous? Oh, no no no no no… well, maybe a little.)

  120. I’d say, “Good one, Greybeard” but since you haven’t visited us for yonks I’m sulking and I’ll reserve my applause.

    Okay, Catty – here goes:

    I was watching the classic Australian film “Stone” with my mate Stone Phillips from CNN.

    Stone said “Hey, you know what would be fun? Let’s get stoned.”

    Just then a newsflash came on the TV, saying another poor woman in Africa had been sentenced to be stoned to death.

    “Stone the crows, Stone” I said, “You’d have to have a heart of stone to carry on like that. It’s stone cold crazy!”

    Stone was seized by an agonising pain and couldn’t reply. Must be his kidney stones acting up.

  121. Stone the crows, I can’t compete with this talent.

    Although I can shed some light on why GB isn’t here.
    Now that he’s in a wheelchair, he can’t reach the door knob.
    He’s at twitter, keeping company with others of low morals and stature.

  122. Are trolls short?

    I always imagined they were huge and hulking, but I suppose Short Man Syndrome would explain a lot…

  123. Mountain trolls, i.e. Lobes, are tall and cumbersome, but cave dwelling trolls are shorter, or at least, they appear so due to some unfortunate scoliosis & laudosis conditions caused by hunching over their keyboards thumping 8 fingered for the F, K, and U keys.

  124. Hehehe.

    I suppose they can’t use their thumbs because they’ve got them up their noses? Or am I confusing them with snotgoblins?

  125. Is it possible to pick your nose if you lack opposable thumbs?
    Either way, tall or short, I for one am grateful that hereabouts we are quite beneath their attention.

  126. Easily. You can also grasp a TV remote and open a beer. You need opposable thumbs for more complex manoeuvres such as the use of tools… but it seems that one can manipulate a blunt instrument without them.

    We’re beneath almost everybody’s attention… and loving it.

  127. I’m not entirely sure about that, Madam. Remember our annual WordPress stats? I was startled to see who had been visiting my blog the most. Certainly he has never commented there.

    Now, did somebody mention thumbs? You realise that it is impossible to open a Milky Bar wrapper without them, don’t you?

  128. That’s what your teeth are for, Catty.

    Did the stats say WHO visited? I never got past being flabbergasted at the aggregate total of hits. I’m going on a desperate search through my inbox to see if I can get more info!

  129. Not specific individuals, no. Instead, they list the top five referring sites. A couple of sites were no surprise (yours was in there, Madam!) but the others were totally out of left field. What we need now is for Quokka to start up a blog.

    Actually, what I need now is a good night’s sleep. I’ve just stuffed myself with homemade cough medicine (Pink Lady Chocolate – well masticated), and I’m off to bed. Stupid virus. Still, could be worse. It could be man ‘flu.

    No, actually it couldn’t, could it?

  130. Poor Catty, get well soon.

    I wouldn’t be surprised if man flu mutates and crosses the species barrier, along with bird flu and swine flu before it.

    Just imagine if you had man flu and PMS. They’d be fleeing to the bunkers, that’s for sure.

  131. Man Flu AND PMS? Crikey, so THAT’S what was wrong with Richard Banner.

  132. Well, snot’s green and so was he.

    I can’t explain the crocodile skin or tendency to speak of himself in the third person, though.


    This’ll cheer you up Catty.
    Have fun today, folks, I’m off to be constructive.
    Or at least I’m going to try.

  134. Do you reckon emergency services had to keep feeding dollar coins into the machine until they managed to grab him?

    Hey Catty, maybe you could specialise in claw machine rescues – and every kid rescued gets a free chocolate!

  135. But Morgana, think of the Pavlov’s dog effect.
    They’ll all be crawling in there so that they can spend an hour playing with the toys, get photographed with firemen AND get a free caramello bear.

    Hell, if those things were around when I was a kid I’d have done it every single shopping trip.

  136. I tell you what, it’s a cheap alternative to babysitters or day care. Take the kid to the shops, pop him up the chute, wander off and do your shopping. By the time emergency services get there and work out how the hell to extract him, you’re finished and ready to go home.


  137. I give up my Caramello Koalas for nobody. Nobody, I tell you!!!

  138. What misguided fool asked you to give up Caramello Koalas, Catty? I hope you weren’t armed at the time.

    I still think that they should be filled of eucalyptus-flavoured cream, though. Koala guts do NOT taste like caramel. Allegedly.

  139. That depends.
    If they consumed large quantities of condensed milk and then dozed off in the sun – or baked in it, having become road kill, then I can see how you’d get the caramello effect.

    Meaning, maybe they should rename them, Bulimic Road Kill Bears. I’m sure we could come up with a suitable marketing strategy.

    Speaking of baking in the heat, one of my swimming buddies warned me we’re meant to be hit by another horror heat wave. I wonder if they’ve got room aboard the Steve Irwin? Sounds like they’re not doing much but cheering and drinking mojitos lately. And there’s a lovely cool breeze in the antarctic this time of year.

  140. Mmm… condensed milk.

    What a fabulous idea, Quokka.

    Hey Catty, instead of the fat-finding tour of America we had planned, how about we order some Tastykakes and Bacon-in-a-can from the Internet and cruise glorious, frigid Antarctica instead? We can try a dish from the Elvis cookbook a day… but NOT redeye gravy. Who’s in?

  141. I’m pretty sure the only cookbooks allowed aboard the Steve Irwin are the Pritiken diet and the Liver Cleansing cook book.

    And to think that I was planning to corrupt them by packing my copy of the Moosewood cookbook. Your plan sounds better, though. If we feed the crew from the Elvis cookbook I’m fairly sure they’ll all be dead from hypertension and constipation in a week. More room on the boat for us, and just think of the fun we could have with those jet skis and paint bombs next time Aunt Irma rocks around.

  142. Liver Cleansing my spreading arse.

    I’ve got the Enchanted Broccoli Forest, too, but the Elvis cookbook is much more fun. I’ll also pack the Scout recipe book from 1940-something – you never know when you’ll need to make a sponge cake, or salad with jelly.

    Do we get to play with water cannons, too – or is that the Japanese “scientists”? Poor things – the blood of innocent whales is HELL to get out of white coats.

  143. I love whales. But I couldn’t eat a whole one.

    How ’bout a crate of twinkies instead? They’re yummy, AND we could use them as ammo when the paint balls run out.

  144. Hmm… are Twinkies like Tastykakes? I’ve read too much Janet Evanovich and I’ve developed a vicarious craving for Tastykakes.

    However, the advantage of Twinkies would be, as I understand it, that they contain no actual food. So even if we got iced in or marooned the noms would stay fresh.

  145. Oh, then we better pack a few barrels of McMilkshakes, as they also contain no actual food.

  146. So instant noodles are in, too, then. How about Cheezels? I mean, that ‘z’ is a dead giveaway that they don’t contain actually cheese-with-an-s….

    * gulp *

    You don’t think Cheezels are made by Zombies, do you, and THAT’S why they have the superfluous ‘z’?

  147. Nah. I think it’s merely misspelled for the sake of being Kute or Klever.

  148. Huh. Know wander kidz theze dayz kan’t spel.

    If we can’t look to the maker’s of salt and fat loaded snack treats for guidance on literacy, where can we turn?

    There’s always the back of cereal boxes, I suppose.

  149. Yesterday at school assembly, one of the grade 5’s (Molly) was reading out the Student Of The Week awards. She read out one girl’s name – with some stuttering. (Understandable – the girl’s name was Jai-ii. Some parents should be shot.) Then Molly announced that the award was for excellent electricity. We later found that the award was for excellent literacy. This would explain why Jai-ii got the award, and not Molly.

  150. The teachers aren’t always so flash themselves. Elf Boy’s student of the week award the other week was awarded to “Elf Boy MacLOUD” (I asked him if he’d been calling out in class!) for being “persistand” with his writing.

    I know it’s only Grade 2, but for crying out loud! (literally)

  151. They’re just starting young with the senior moments.

    This morning, bedazzled by the pain in my feet, I told my pilates teacher that there was a wonderful herbal remedy for insomnia, that being combined parts of valium and hops.

    Damned valerian, its got too many syllables for my brain to remember when its focused on early starts and acute suffering.

    FKN pilates. FKN dodgy foot.

    How’s that for spelling?

  152. Understandable mistake, Quokka. Valium goes with everything.
    (Except students. Just thought I’d qualify that before Elf Boy’s teacher gets any ideas.)

  153. Valium and hops sounds like a great recipe to me, Quokka.

    Not quite as good as Poltergeist spray, but you WOULD crash out on the couch smelling like a brewery.

    How are your poor Pilates tortured sinews this morning?

  154. Amazingly they’re actually feeling better.
    I assume this means that I need to apply her torture daily if I want to walk the earth on two legs rather than regressing to some limping gimpy decrepit creature…

    Then again, I could just push Greybeard out of his wheelchair and make off with that.

    then again, it’s too hot to bother.
    Its so hot that when I hosed out the cat pen earlier, some of the Flood Cats refused to exit to the upper story & just sat there on the bridge, watching me soak their pen.

    When I herded the rest of them back down there, several just went and lay down on puddles on the concrete. Its pretty cool downstairs but even so, things are looking desperate when a cat decides to sleep in a wet spot.

  155. It’s so hot I’m sure my brain melted. And what did I plan for dinner – earlier in the week before it got so GD foul? That’s right, a lovely roast. Blech.

    We’ve had a blood-soaked day, full of tears and tragedy. When I let the dog out this morning there was a kerfuffle and a sound of hissing from the front patio. I found a baby brushtail possum in a pretty bad state. After a thorough ring-around the list of carers provided by the hotline… people, why volunteer if you’re going to be unavailable and/or not answer your phones?… we finally found a lovely lady who took the poor little fellow off our hands. I don’t like his chances.

    Dog is now canis non grata and will be strictly curfewed from sunset to sunrise.

  156. Poor poss. At least you found him quickly & sent him off to care.

    Roast, argh. Talk about igniting the fires of hell.

    I made risotto last night and dispatched The Bloke outdoors to the BBQ with some marinaded satay pork chops and instructions to watch out for JB’s Pork Thief.

    He seemed to manage, although I haven’t checked the fridge yet to see if the leftovers survived.

    We visited the architect on Friday and tweaked our plans a bit on his 3D model – he found a better spot to put the BBQ in our courtyard, the man is a genius – so yesterday we wandered off to the BBQ shop to look at expensive outdoor cooking items.

    If we’re going to have summers like these, all I’m going to be preparing indoors is salad and banana smoothies. So we found one of those BBQs that you can roast in and which has a wok burner for stir fries – and, bonus for Paranoia Girl here, it gets piped in to town gas so you don’t have to worry about empty/exploding gas cylinders. Those things fill me with abject terror.

    I’m starting to think that town planning should insist that every house in this climate must be fitted with an outdoor kitchen, somewhere in the shade where heat can’t accumulate. I swear that even turning the toaster or the kettle on yesterday cranked the temp in the kitchen up another few points. Lets hope those storms hit us soon, fellow SEQ sufferers.

    Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll slither off back into the AC.

  157. I’d revert entirely to a diet of salads, smoothies and sorbets but the darn children insist on their hot meals. Who the hell wants to eat spaghetti freaking bolognese when the air is as thick, rich and piping hot as a bowl of minestrone? Children, that’s who.

    You’re just like my mum, Quokka. To both of you, I say: “Where are the stats on exploding LPG cylinders? How many lives are lost annually in Queensland?”

    I saw the Mythbusters try to explode one with small arms – no big bang until they brought out the rocket launchers.

    I’ve got two just outside my laundry and believe me, there are many more things in my house that rate higher on my list of things to worry about. You don’t even have to worry about running out of gas – as soon as one empties you switch to the second and then ring for a refill. The next day or so you’re firing on two cylinders again.

    All that having been said, though, you’re lucky to have piped gas. No unsightly barnacles on the side of your house.

  158. Its probably my memories of watching a bunch of stoned male friends jump into a less than roadworthy ute and bumble, drunk, down the road from Point Lookout – gas cylinders rolling unsecured in the back of said ute – and then get diverted by a necessary stopover at the pub for 8 hours – that ignites my paranoia.

    Still, you’re right.
    If that combination couldn’t explode a gas bottle, I’m not surprised the myth busters failed.

    Still, given my spouse’s ineptitude at manly domestic tasks, (something of which we’re both rather proud) I’m well pleased to discover I’ll never need to watch him change another gas cylinder, ever again.

    Did you know that the first architect we spoke to about our plans looked at him and said ‘But where are you going to put your tool shed?’

    To which the bloke replied ‘I don’t have any tools.’

    The architect was aghast.
    Thankfully the new architect looked over our sketches, said ‘that looks wonderful’ and didn’t bother asking us where we thought we’d keep the tools.

    How much storage space do you really need for a hammer and a phillips head screw driver, FFS?

    Oh, the heat.
    Stay cool, kids.

  159. Hehehe. I’ve got more tools than that – not that I know how to use them or anything.

    Ooh… I’ve just thought of a new post!

  160. yeah nice

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