Posted on by JonnyB

There is a particular constant about moving into a new house.

That is, in the period between meeting the current owner/landlord and saying “yes, what a nice house this is, I think I will definitely buy/rent it” and actually moving in, the vendor in question will zip round making all the rooms smaller, the rooms darker, and the carpets and walls generally nastier than you remember.

In fact my top tip if you are looking around a house with a view to prospective purchase/rent is to make a very secret mark thing somewhere hidden. That way, when you eventually move in you can check that you’re actually in the place that you originally saw rather than a cheaper substitute dwelling that you’ve been tricked into purchasing via a system of mirrors etc (which is quite easy to do).

Fortunately, Narcoleptic Dave’s cottage is much as I remember it – in fact he’s given it a nice lick of paint. He’d been staying there whilst his own builders finished off, and hadn’t really bothered to move much furniture in, with no cooker, and mattresses slung on the floor in lieu of a bed. God knows how he got any sleep.

So thinking about it, there isn’t a particular constant at all. It just happens sometimes, depending on circumstances. Like in particle physics (I think, although I am not entirely sure, not being a particle physicist. But I could look the subject up on Google and become an expert, if I had time, which I don’t, but I could).

A real particular constant constant, however, is the fact that every single time I move house I say to myself “next time, I will get the professionals to do it.” Hence, I have booked the bloke in the next village who owns a van, and asked Short Tony and Big A to give me a hand. There can’t be much carrying to do, really.

Really.

Posted on by JonnyB
Apologies for the interruption in transmission.

This week I will be busy moving into Narcoleptic Dave’s cottage. Here are some nice posts from this year, a bit like UK Gold only in Norfolk. And with writing instead of telly.

Sheep – Mitt – Wet – Table

Posted on by JonnyB

I entrap a mouse!!!

Looking at my watch, I realise that it is time to check the traps. There is no point in buying humane mousetraps if one leaves a mouse in there for a long time with no food or TV etc. As the man of the house, I decide to go myself.

The joists are riddled with woodworm and as soft as cheese. But being a courageous Norfolk Steve Irwin I am not afraid as I crawl across them on my knees, clutching my torch and trying not to touch the loft insulation (because it is itchy).

My trap is full of mice!!!

There are three in there. I carefully grab it and retrace my kneels, bringing my prize downstairs into the main part of the cottage. They don’t appear to be making much of a bid for freedom.

“Mice!!!” I announce to the LTLP, thrusting the trap at her. She looks up in distaste from the thickie bit of the newspaper, annoyingly unimpressed with my resourcefulness at pest extermination.

I examine the trap in triumph. Two smaller mice are sort of cowering at the back, whilst the larger one sits in front, looking at me. It doesn’t seem annoyed or reproachful, just a bit… sad.

I locate my shoes and carry the trap into the back garden.

It’s horribly cold outside. I shiver as I step out into the rapidly gathering frost. We hunters are used to harsh conditions, but it really is very peaky.

A small remorse nags at me.

My torch lights the way into the woodshed. It is very slightly warmer in there. Placing the trap down gently, I release the catch. The mice do not emerge. I give it a slight tap. The mice still do not emerge. I say something like “Here, mousey mousey!!!” and emergentless remain the mice.

They seem perfectly alive and well in there, but unwilling to leave for whatever reason. I am not sure whether I have traumatised them or whether it’s just that it is warmer where they are. I try various ploys to get them to be on their way, but to no avail.

I wrap some sacking over the trap to keep it cosy, and plod back indoors to fetch them a snack.