Posted on by JonnyB

The French arrive in town!!!

It is exciting and has been advertised in the local paper – a French market!!! I take the Baby as it is important for her to experience other cultures, plus it is illegal to leave her on her own in the house.

Oooh la la!!! We speed down les ruelles de campagne, la baby et moi, dans le voiture. I have been feeling a bit maisonbound for the past few weeks, what with having the lurgee, but am determined to make an effort to welcome our visitors.

To be honest, I am a bit disappointed, in that there are about five stalls, and two of those are selling either handbags or funny material type things that appear (according to a mannequin) to wrap around women and their breasts in lieu of a proper dress. They are not even used. I do not wish to have a wasted journey and I have spent 60p on parking so I go to the sausage stall and buy a chorizo in order that I can make an authentic risotto later on.

Then I pop into Boots to buy some Ibuprofen. But this is not French so it does not count. I briefly consider seeing if they stock plaster of Paris, or rubber johnnies. But it would not be the same.

I will continue to support the proper English market. Good honest local produce people, like the Duck Man who sometimes gives me a discount, or the Vegetable Delivery Man (with a beard). One day I will visit France again and visit one of their markets on their home turf. That is as it should be.

We return to the house, earlier than we’d hoped. The Baby sleeps in the car.

Posted on by JonnyB

“It may not be from Norwich,” says Nicholas Parsons. “But it is still the quiz of the week!!!”

We settle back into the sofas in high excitement. I am not really ‘up’ on modern video games and in fact I did not know at all that you could do them on a DVD player.

Nicholas Parsons explains the rules. The DVD player is quite slow, so at the end of this bit his face freezes for some seconds whilst the next bit gets ready. It is disconcerting. Or it might not be the DVD player. I have not met Nicholas Parsons since the debacle a few years ago; he might be like that now in real life, with his face freezing at the end of each sentence. I do not know.

“Congratulations! That’s right!” [Freeze].

“Now it is the turn of Player Two.” [Freeze].

An hour passes. Short Tony and I match each other question for question.

‘Correct!’ – a graphic zooms into view and sits there for a few seconds.

“Now it’s time for Round Two!” [Freeze].

“This time you’ll be answering questions on – Where in the World?” [Freeze].

Several days pass. Nicholas Parsons’s strange face-freezing disease gets no better. The ‘correct’ and ‘bad luck’ graphics become part of our lives. By November 2025 we are on round four and so have answered (as far as I can remember) fifteen questions each. By November 2502, our descendants have reached the ‘quickfire round’, which lasts until the millennium celebrations in 2999. Worryingly, medical scientists still haven’t found a cure for the face-freezing disease, which bodes ill for cancer, alzheimers etc. I win the quickfire round and take the spoils!!!

“Congratulations!” says Nicholas Parsons. “The winner is,” [freeze] “player one!” [freeze].

“If you’ve enjoyed this, why not treat yourself to another game?”

Nicholas Parsons’s face freezes one last time. The screen reads ‘Press Select to start’.

Posted on by JonnyB

I hit the LTLP in the face with a ladder!!!

She staggered back, shouting ‘ow’ a lot.

It was her own fault. I had left the ladder there, being heartily sick of all things laddery after the early ‘box of records’ incident, and reasoning that I could carry it downstairs and outside later on. I had then gone to the Village Pub. The Chipper Barman, sympathetic both to my earlier trauma and my head cold, had poured me several large rums as medication.

Now I was bladdered. And she was laddered.

“You are trying to kill me!” she gasped.

I apologised and tried again to get it through the bedroom door and out of the way so I could check if she was OK. But somebody had attached big magnetic things to the ends of the ladder, which made it veer about alarmingly as I attempted to turn around to explain this. I gave up the turning round bit and headed for the stairs, being very very careful to miss the large light fitting on the landing, but not missing the large light fitting on the landing.

Later, I looked at myself in the mirror. Perhaps I AM trying to kill her!!! There is something in my deep subconscious that is causing this. There have been stranger defences in a court of law. But I didn’t shoot the deputy.

I am very fond of her, the old rungface, but I am concerned that I am turning into a psychopath.

Posted on by JonnyB

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Her voice is cold, like steel that has been kept in the fridge. In many ways it is not an improvement on the running around yelling and holding her head from a few moments earlier.

Meanwhile, I clutch the ladder and gibber.

“First the stairs collapse under me.”

My head is swimming and I realise that my hands are shaking. I am not good on ladders, or with heights, or on high ladders. I am especially not good when I almost fall off them. Around me, the loft seems to shimmy from side to side.

“I…” I explain.

“Then you arrange to have me electrocuted.”

With the insulation finally laid, we have been stuffing the loft with heavy Stuff. It was having some of this Stuff handed to me – a large cardboard box full of LPs – which had caused my loss of balance. Thinking fast, even amidst my panic attack, I had realised that the only possible way to stop myself falling through the hatch would be to release the box, heaving it as far as possible in an arc over the LTLP standing below.

With all my might, I had dropped the box almost exactly vertically onto her head.

“Is it for some insurance thing or something?!?”

The loft stops shimmying and starts hokey-cokeying in and out in front of my eyes. I clutch the ladder harder. Looking down, there are records spread all over the floor below. Fortunately, none seem to be broken. A couple of joists move in and out, before shaking it all about.

“Well?”

My vision starts clearing, but I still can’t let go of my rung. I try to continue my scientific explanation based on thrust and momentum and balance and stuff.

“You ARE trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

The words chill me. She does not see it as a threat. She sees it as a competition.