Of Mice and er Wasps

Went off to the hairdresser today for a trim. It was a beautiful day, though it clouded over a bit later. Our local roads and lanes are full of trees, ferns and silver birches and I couldn’t stop admiring the wonderful autumn colours as I drove along – so many different shades of golden brown, orange, yellow, red and silvery green. I’m sure I said the same sort of things last year. Have I really been writing this blog for a year?

At the hairdresser, I watched as an elderly lady emerged from curlers and tolerated her hair being back-combed - a technique we all once used many years ago – to make the hair look thicker and fuller. I can’t remember at what point I discovered my hair didn’t need any of this, and could just be washed and left to do its own thing. So much quicker, easier and cheaper. I was full of admiration that two of the stylists could do their stuff in heels four inches high. We were discussing heels at Guildford Writers (www.guildfordwriters.co.uk) a couple of weeks ago, and someone queried whether women still wore them. Oh they definitely do.

My hair looked fine when she’d finished, which is good, because we will be out for lunch on Sunday with the family, and I’ll be at BookBoyz in Farnborough for the book signing on Tuesday.

We are being invaded again – things from the outside are in – where we don’t want them. When the ProdigalDaughter was here with her family, she found a blue tit in the kitchen. It must have sneaked in when I took rubbish out to the dustbin. Fortunately, it exited as soon as she opened the kitchen door. Next, I found a slug on the kitchen floor. That went out straight away. I should have known it was the thin end of the edge. Worse was to follow. We heard the patter of tiny feet above our heads on Saturday night, and M went up into the roof and put out unmentionable things up there, and I’m afraid, had to retrieve dead bodies the next day.

In addition, for the past three weeks, or so, we have had wasps in the utility room. I thought the problem was over when we spotted a potential nest at the edge of the roof, outside, and dealt with it, but no. On Monday morning, when I went in, there were two or three hovering dangerously. I dashed out again. There are no windows to open there, and I didn’t fancy doing my jobs with them circling round my head. I took the last of the wasp spray in there and sprayed the room and then had my shower. I hoped that when I needed access they’d be dead. But no, when I went back, one was still shooting angrily round the room. I found there was almost no job I could get on with. I couldn’t load the washing machine, or take out clean sheets; I couldn’t get a loaf from the freezer, or a new dustbin bag (the bin men remembered to take our rubbish today; they don’t always). I couldn’t get a clean towel, having washed my hair and I couldn’t get some fish I wanted to cook, from the freezer. It all had to wait. Another few puffs of spray and that was finished. Fortunately, though not for him, the wasp too succumbed to the final blast. And at last, I was able to catch up with those Monday morning jobs; by that time I’d made the bed; clean sheets had to wait for the following day. Since then I’ve bought some more spray, and each day another contingent meets their fate.