August 3, 2013

A RATFRELLERFESTERINGBAG DAY

 

(Feh.  Yes.  Blog post tonight.  And here I had an excuse to skive off.)

. . . It started last night of course.  All the worst days start the night before.  It gives days with attitude problems a better run at being festering ratbags.

I’d had a fit of the sillies and bought half a dozen songs from an on-line sheet music shop who sells you the downloads and then you have to print the suckers out.  Hey, the shop was having a sale.  You don’t expect me to resist a SALE, do you?*  Have I mentioned lately that I HATE MY PRINTER?  I hate my printer.  Hate.  Hate.  The hellpack may have to live on dog food to let me squeeze out enough money to BUY A NEW PRINTER.**

I managed to get two of five or six pieces printed out.  By which time I was hoarse from screaming and all three critters were in various carpet-like postures, hoping to escape attention from Kali in her Destroyer phase.  And the printer was now permanently stuck in one of two responses:  PAPER JAM or PAPER TRAY EMPTY.  Print something?  Are you kidding?  It was totally betrayed and violated by the fact that I’d got any pages out of it at all.  PAPER JAM, it says, aggrievedly.  And when it gets bored with that, and I’ve opened and slammed shut ALL of its doors and turned it off and back on again two or three times, it declares PAPER TRAY EMPTY for a while.

Shaking with frustrated rage***  I went into the bathroom for a nice calming bath.  And discovered a wasp trying to fight its way through the screen.†  WTF, you moron?  It’s a BATHROOM.  I don’t use scented bath oil and my peppermint toothpaste is unsweetened.  I turned the light out for a minute . . . went back in and discovered the freller ON THE INSIDE.

I killed it.  I don’t like killing things, but I’m a little hysterical about aggressive things that bite.  And I was just getting into my nice calming bath WHEN I DISCOVERED THERE WERE THREE MORE WASPS ALREADY IN THE BATHROOM.  If the first one had been a honeybee†† I’d’ve at least tried to trap her in a glass and take her outdoors.  But FOUR?  Waaaaaah.  Well, I nailed two of ’em and couldn’t find the third, so I spent the night—what was left of the night—(a) with the bathroom window closed, which was horrible because it was a hot night and that bathroom window is the centrepiece of my cross ventilation system (b) not sleeping, of course, because I was lying there rigidly listening for buzzing noises, because aside from the missing third/fourth, if there were four there might be more and (c) when I got up for a pee slamming painfully into the closed bathroom door.  And (d) sweltering.

I am not awake today.  And there were handbells this afternoon.

There was supposed to be Oisin this afternoon too, although after the night I’d just had I might have bottled out of singing again, but I had to cancel to stay in for the Exterminator Man.  Who came, confirmed that my unwelcome guests are wasps not honeybees, THAT THEY’RE FRELLING RAMPANT IN MY GARDEN . . . and that there’s NOTHING HE CAN DO ABOUT THEM BECAUSE THE NEST IS SOMEWHERE ELSE.

So I have the joyous prospect before me of either boiling to death with all my windows shut . . . or knocking on a series disturbingly upwardly mobile doors—have I mentioned lately that I live in the high-rent district, and single-handedly lower the tone by relentless application of All Stars and an American accent and, lately, bull terrier puppy—and saying pardon me, have you noticed any wasps about the place?

Oh, and I’ve forgotten to tell you that my landline has died.  DIED.  Died.  No phone.  I don’t like phones but it is a little inconvenient. . . . And people get testy when you won’t give them your mobile number just because your landline isn’t working.

I decided that what I really needed was some monks.  So when my handbellers left, I am happy to add, unstung, I told the hellpack to Go.  Lie.  Down, I would be back later.

Well, I was back a lot sooner than planned.  They’d had night prayer unscheduledly early and the chapel was already locked.

A truly festering ratfrellerbag of a day.

* * *

* Also sheet music is cheaper than yarn.^  Awful lot of frelling yarn shops having summer sales too.  They figure hey, it’s August, September is coming . . . WINTER.  MUST HAVE YARN.

^ I could of course start collecting complete scores . . . which would put me back in the silk/merino/hand-dyed category again . . . but I’m not going to.  I have my complete SWEENEY TODD.  That’s enough.  Probably.  For now.+

+  Yarn.  Must have yarn.#

# Would also quite like a little more Olivier Messiaen.  I can’t read it, but just staring at the page makes me feel a little like how I imagine mainlining heroin might feel.  Whoooooosh.  Hey, another planet.  And Messiaen scores are definitely in the silk/cashmere/hand-dyed in small lots by virgin priestesses at the new moon price category.

** Since the angels tell me that getting the current purulent garbage heap rehabilitated would cost more than buying a new one.  PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE MY AUNT FANNY.  THE PIECE OF ROTTEN OFFAL ARRIVED NEEDING TO BE REPLACED.^

^ Some day . . . pleeeeeeeeease . . . some day may I have a printer I don’t hate?

*** Throwing it out the window would result in picking little stupid plastic pieces out of my garden for the next century.  Aside from the fact that my handkerchief of earth is so densely planted there’s nowhere for the abomination to land without crushing something innocent and friendly . . . no, Souvenir, speaking of guilty and hostile, is on the far wall.  I wouldn’t be able to heave the unholy object that distance.

† And then there are the Window Screen Wars.  England doesn’t believe in air con.  It doesn’t believe in screens for your windows either.  ARRRRRRRGH.  I can see some justification for a lack of air con.  I CAN SEE NO JUSTIFICATION WHATSOEVER FOR A LACK OF WINDOW SCREENS.  And the cut-to-size stuff costs £1,762,444 per square metre, and the square metre isn’t square, it’s in some kind of funny rhomboid shape specially designed for as much wastage as possible per window.  I think it’s the same company that makes printers.  Furthermore the cut-to-size stuff is stuck in place by Velcro strips and it’s a whole lot better than nothing but it’s a bit like the locks on your doors:  a really determined burglar/wasp will get in anyway.  What you want to try to do is not be that attractive.  IT’S A BATHROOM.  WHY DO YOU WANT TO GET INTO MY BATHROOM?

†† The horrible truth is that I cannot reliably tell one buzzy stinging thing from another.  I can totally do bumblebees, who are slow and furry, but those nippy little yellow and black things, not so much.  I know that wasps are the yellowest and blackest, and the nippiest, but unless I’ve got a wasp to hand to compare a honeybee with, the smaller, more slender honeybees look a little too wasp-like for my comfort.  Anything that has big yellow pollen panniers is also fine but they don’t always.  And you can kind of assume that something that is trying to get into MY BATHROOM is confused and therefore unpredictable and possibly cranky.

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