Tuesday, 10 August 2010
We are the Weasleys
It starts with the approach to the house – up slippery, windy stone steps (often with the odd frog or slow-worm lounging) and through the under(over)growth, batting aside brambles and ivy. Then you have to paddle through the, um, ‘water feature’ (overflowing drain) with attendant stench. I have lost track of how many builders we have asked to quote for fixing this – maybe they get lost in the spinney (aka enchanted forest, aka patch of brambles with the odd tree) as they leave?
Dodge, if you can, the crap. Despite Adrian’s best efforts (and he has become somewhat obsessive on this score) one or other of the dogs will have vetoed the ‘potty place’ (not my term, inherited from Puppies for Dummies) and made pretty patterns of poo down the path.
Come prepared (preferably armoured) as Asbo will launch himself (a stout black and white missile with festering teeth) at you with a volley of shrill barking. The SP will then skid into view, probably tugging a trainer twice his size. At this point you will realise that the entire lawn is littered with footwear as, once again, he has breached the barricades and made off with the trainer mountain we have climbing the stairs.
You might hope that calm would prevail inside the house but sadly not.
‘Honestly, what do people think?’ I wailed a few days ago, having deposited James at a friend’s pristine home. ‘And don’t even think about trying that ‘We’re Bohemians’ line. It’s old.’
‘No, I wasn’t going to say that,’ he replied, excavating a space on the kitchen table so he could put down his plate. ‘I was thinking more of the Weasleys’.’
‘The Weasleys. Harry Potter.’
Actually he’s got a point. We’ve even got the broomsticks. And we’ve certainly got the cobwebs. Oh, if I could only hurl myself into the fireplace and emerge in another house – somewhere clean and ordered.
I just don’t understand. It’s hardly a small house and there are just three of us plus two dogs. So why is it such total mayhem? Partly I think it’s working from home but other people manage that too. Maybe I’m just a slattern when it comes to housework.
Or perhaps aybe the feng shui isn’t right. I’ve been worrying about this for a while now. My great ‘let’s open the house up, get the energy moving’ has clearly worked – but maybe it’s worked just too well. The energy isn’t just moving; it’s having an illegal rave and has invited half the county.
We don’t talk to one another, we yell. Not in a nasty way, just in a trying to make oneself heard over the radio/barking/telephone way. We don’t sit; we sprawl. The sofa is littered with dog toys and books and unsuspecting guests are likely to sit down and yelp as they discover the hoof the SP left under the throw.
In the middle of all this chaos I sit, trying to write. Ye gods, maybe I should turn my hand to farce.
PS - we finally got the last test results back and James did have Lyme's Disease. No evident bite, no rash - so do be careful. He's on antibiotics so should make a total recovery.
PPS - a very nice man from The National Railway Museum sends me emails (and postcards, and rock - smart chap!) asking me (very politely) if I'd mention the Museum on my blog. I can't for the life of me think of any smart way of writing a post about this - it's in York so unlikely we'll make our way up there. But here it is - a mention of the National Railway Museum. And, because I'm all heart - a link too!
And, because he sent rock (bribery with food always works!) here's a picture too.
Actually, it looks rather good - if you have train-mad children...there's a bit of a Hogwarts thing going on too.