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TFI Friday

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TFI Friday.

Okey dokey. Firstly, no-one leaves me notes except the most excellent Dangerspouse. It looks either like I’m friendless or I’m being stalked. Not sure which, but don’t leave this poor ole Italian American Celebrity on his own. All you have to do is scroll down to the bottom of the page and click the button that says “about me – read my profile” and then scroll down again through my acres of drivel and click on “leave a note for moosehunter”. Don’t be a stranger!

My dad’s now out of the hospital and home. Yay. He’s got a walking stick (that he calls his ‘grumpy old man stick’) and he’s slow and wobbly due to the seven weeks of atrophying in hospital beds or his own. Still, he’s getting better daily now and is planning a grand entrance at our local drinking pit tonight!

Do you know it’s odd. Since I’ve not been writing nasty things about people in the last week or more, I don’t seem to have funny things to say! Weird.

However, I will relate one humourous episode from yesterday. Mrs Moosehunter was in York at her University lectures etc and was coming back to the village later on to see me. She then rang me and had trouble talking through her hysterical laughter. She’d been walking down the street and wondered why people kept laughing at her or pointing. She then saw a shadow and realised what had happened. She’d been in a clothes shop trying on new garments and had hung her scarf on a rack of belts. When she’d left the shop she hadn’t realised that one of the belts had got hooked up with her scarf and she was walking down the street with an accidentally-stolen belt flapping behind her.

My Fiancee, the criminal mastermind!

Also yesterday, I helped out my great aunt with a small job. Now this lady is close family (in more ways than one, since she lives absolutely next door to my parents.) She’s lovely. She’s generous. She’s helpful. She’s also deaf, unpredictable, suffers from strangely changing moods, talks like an express train with no brakes and doesn’t listen when anyone else speaks, talks to you with her eyes shut (which is a weird and creepy thing – try it and see what reaction you get) and is frankly so eccentric and round the bend she can see the back of her own head. None of this really matters to us as she’s family and we’re used to her, but I can’t begin to imagine what strangers think of her. Anyway, she popped round and told me that her sack of potatoes had arrived and they’d left it in her porch. Could I carry it through the house, up the drive, past the garages and into a little old shed. No problem says I. So I pop round, knock on the door and pick up the heavy sack of potatoes. She answers the door and lets me in, where I am instantly assailed by her two dogs. I love dogs. She has one small corgi (yes Dangerspouse, she also has the corgi bug) which is insane beyond all help and whose eyes roll pretty constantly. It barks endlessly and piercingly. And it nips your ankles. I’m sure you can imagine how welcome that is while carrying a heavy sack of potatoes. Now throw into the mix the other dog, who’s a golden labrador. This dog is lovely natured but largely uncontrollable. She seems to have a kind of loose join in the middle of her torso and as the back half of her madly wags to the left, the whole front half lurches wildly in the other direction and then the whole thing reverses. She also has a thing for cushions and carries one round in her mouth all the time. She’s a bit numb and daft and runs at you, wagging madly, until she runs slap bang into you knees, fortunately cushioned from the blow. This of course is equally welcome when carrying a heavy item. I negotiated the canine obstacle course and lugged this sack of potatoes through to the back of the house, where my great aunt asked my to wait, as she’d walk up with me. So I stood. And stood. Holding this heavy bag I stood. While she went to find and don her coat, chattering away all the while. Then while she found her shoes and put them on. Chattering. Then opened the back door and let the dogs out. I made my bid for freedom and the open air, but she stepped in front of me and started telling me all about her other next door neighbour’s new baby. By the time I reached the shed with the potatoes, my arms were a good foot longer than they used to be (which explains why I kept hurting my knuckles scraping them on thing all day.) It was then I realised which shed she meant. I am arachnophobic with a vengeance. This shed was constructed some time around 1910 and was last cleaned some time around 1911. There are cobwebs in there that would probably be able to support the weight of a rugby team falling from a building. I kid you not. Gossamer these aint. They look like thick blankets. I tried not to look as I dropped the sack on the floor and ran for my life. Any arachnid that can make that kind of web probably eats sheep and lifts weights. The worst of all things happened as I dropped the sack on the floor. The weight shook the entire shed (it being lightly constructed and old and rickety and only the size of a Transit van.) As the shed shook, things fell from the ceiling and some of them landed in my hair. Now I all but shaved my head earlier that day and for that I will be forever grateful as nothing could get lodged in my hair. I never stopped to check whether anything that hit me had legs. All I did was turn and run out of the shed and stand, ashen faced, on the lawn while I waited for my heart to beat again. I shudder even now thinking about that. Eurgh.

Ah well. There’s probably lots of things I could write about, but I’ll save them for later.

See y’all.

Moosehunter.

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Written by SJAT

December 20, 2009 at 12:45 pm

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