A Confession

This is very difficult for me to say dear bloggers, but of late I have been having naughty thoughts. No, not those type of thoughts (although George Clooney in a skimpy little number does occasionally cross my mind). As you may know from my previous posts, I'm a bit of a softy when it comes to God's little creatures, but there is a certain little creature that I'm having murderous thoughts over. There, I've said it. I feel so much better for sharing this with you.

These murderous thoughts are becoming more and more frequent, more detailed and are almost preparatory in substance and detail. In fact I'd go so far as to say they are fantasies; fantasies that I enjoy! I know that the little creature in question is oblivious to my wicked thoughts. I need to get rid of this mental torment one way or another and at this moment in time dear bloggers, I confess that murder most horrid seems the most likely cure. When I say murder most horrid, I may be gilding the lily a tad, a straight forward killing will do. My favourite plan is a shooting - out of the back bedroom window (you see, I told you I'd gone all preparatory). No-one will know it was me and all I need to do is buy a gun and learn how to use it. Oh, and I'll also need some camouflage combat trousers, a masculine vest top, a bandana and will wear no make-up (we're thinking along the lines of Sigourney Weaver in Alien here).

Even as I write the said little creature is tormenting me; I can hear him. I hear him all day. I hear him at night. I hear him first thing in the morning. I hear him when I get up in the middle of the night. He's always there!

Perhaps I should explain. The said little creature is a cockerel with a speech impediment. No, dear bloggers, it's not at all funny, so please stop smirking. He moved onto the land at the back of my house a while back. He has no sense of day or night and the only time he's quiet is early evening, when I presume he collapses from exhaustion. It wouldn't be quite so bad if his cock-a-doodle-doo was normal, but it isn't. It's a sort of painful, elongated cock-a-doodle-do, with the end bit going all croaky.

So, I've been watching him recently, eyeing him up. He's not the best of specimens I'm afraid, but I reckon there's a few portions to be had off him. Nigel Slater has some rather nice recipes, but I do quite fancy a Heston Blumenthal seeing as it will be such a special occasion.

I must remember to get a nice bottle of Chianti, seeing as I'm having a friend for dinner (*smacks lips repeatedly*).

Oh, and please don't tell anyone about this, let it be our little secret eh. I just don't think the pupillage committees would understand.

New Year's Resolutions

I'm not normally one for making New Year Resolutions, but feel that because this is the start of a new decade I ought to at least make a bit of effort. So without further ado, my list is as follows:

• Bag a pupillage;
• Be less grumpy with those that matter;
• Be more grumpy with those that don't;
• Be less generally (i.e. lose those 4lbs plonked on over Christmas);
• Decorate the bathroom;
• Decorate the bedroom;
• Decorate the hall;
• Decorate the junk room;
• Tidy the junk room (i.e. have a bloody good clear out);
• Decorate the spare room;
• Do whatever makes me happy (so that pretty much cancels out most of the above bar the Bar if you get my drift).

Christmas hasn't been without its problems. We've had 2 burst pipes, caused by the sub-zero temperatures. Luckily the bursts were spotted within a few minutes of happening, so the damage wasn't too bad, but I was unable to use my washing machine for several days due to the freeze-up. This laundry-less state of affairs resulted in the wearing of some very dodgy underwear, you know the sort, the frumpy ones stuffed at the back of the drawer for a rainy day and the ones that you optimistically rediscover, only to belatedly remember that the very reason they are at the back of the drawer is because they give you a wedgie every time you move.

Bar-Os isn't speaking to me. I brought him up from the paddock yesterday and he just wasn't his usual cheeky chirpy self. Initially, I thought that he was having a bit of a relapse with the Cauda Equina Syndrome, but once inside the stable he immediately tucked into his haynet,  so I dispelled any notion of serious illness. I groomed him carefully and chatted away for half an hour or so, only to be met with an aloof, mildly irritated glance. I suspect that the charms of another woman have lured him away from his clingy mother. You see, a new pony has arrived in the field next door; she's a red head and has a lovely, strawberry blonde, wavy tail and has a love heart pattern clipped on her pert little bum. I just can't compete on the looks front I'm afraid, so cling to the hope that the way back to my boy's heart is through his stomach. Because he isn't quite right in the waterworks department, the excitement of talking to the laydees next door makes him wee spontaneously, but they don't seem to mind one bit and positively vie for his attention.

There seems to have been a bit of progress on the fireworks front. The hotel had another display a few nights back, but they were over the other side of the hotel, so weren't going off above Bar-Os Towers. As such the noise was reduced to a (just about but not quite really) tolerable level.

I have a few pupillage application forms awaiting my attention, but lack enthusiasm at the moment. They can wait a few more days. Instead, I have decided to paint my kitchen cupboards and now need to decide what colours will best suit. I painted them a few years back using some sea-side shades of pebble grey and watery blue/green; the result was very nice, but it's time for a change. I'm thinking a pale, mint green and a darker olive green will look quite good. I do like cream, but my kitchen gets some hammer, so perhaps not the most practical colour to choose.

Anyways, I wish everyone a Happy New Year and hope that 2011 will see the back of the recession and the start of something good.