i've been busy trying to slow down time people and it's no easy task, as y'all know.
for fear of boring you, oh random but worthy reader, with tales of hot classrooms, in which i have been kept prisoner, i shall instead lambaste you with tails of another kind.
mid week. school day. routine. up and at 'em. stumble downstairs with a sleepy mashed potato head. with thick fingers i put on the kettle and slice the bread, reminding myself of granny martha's wise and true advice "let the knife do the cutting" only after demolishing the first slice into a crumpled (or rather crumbled) ball and the loaf into a diamond shape. stumble back to bedrooms and en route, catch my reflection and give self fright. berate myself for doing nothing about it but remember that it's all rather too late. continue to harangue myself with mum's "it's no use crying over spilled milk" and other irrationalities like the children are starving in somalia and isn't life a blast you lucky lucky person while i shout " rise and shine. rise and shine" to my sleeping army who shout back "stop shouting ma!" i soon realize that i am becoming not the sweaty German man but rather Dahl's Mrs Twit.
shuffle back to kitchen, carefully avoiding any encounters with reflection, light a cigarette and watch the kettle wondering why it hasn't boiled yet. second born stomps in. i growl " check the toast" and realize he can't get to the oven (we don't own a toaster) because i am rooted to the spot staring at the kettle and Thinking Things. so i open it. he says, "it isn't ready ma." i continue, smugly, " oh but i think it is. it LOOKS like it isn't but on closer inspection you'll find that it is." whilst leaning down to poke it and demonstrate a self righteous wisdom to second born, i see a grey frilly thing lying below the toast on the lower level. i am not wearing my glasses. so i say to second born "what's that?" he says matter of factly, "it's a rat." i say "no. no! Oh. My. God."
its tail was curled and crispy and its incisors exposed in a toasty, deathly grin. it was very dead. and i promise you, oh bestests, it wasn't there when i put the toast in. who will believe Mrs Twit then?
we ate the toast, with long teeth. you can eat anything with nutella.
even the cat refused toasted ratatouille for breakfast.
cats these days just aren't what they used to be.
Kitchen Board: a few days ago just after The Rat Incident: Feb 2012
thank you pam, for your ratastic contribution to the kitchen board.
toodely ole toot, oh bestests, and bisous X.X.X. jump in your arms there's a rat in the oven ones x. j