God has smote (smitten – smited??) me down for being so grouchy yesterday.
This morning I woke up with a stiff neck. It is not the worst stiff neck I have ever had. I have still been able to flick two fingers at the CLD (TM) and let Heather Small lie there for a little longer, but I do look like an arthritic owl.
It is one of those stiff necks, where, sometimes, for a fraction of a second, I can forget I have a stiff neck, and then, when I turn my head to do something crucial, I go; ‘OW FUCKETY OW!’ etc.
By this time of night I am slightly hunchy and more owish, because I have been holding my head very still at a weird angle for most of the day in order not to spend the day howling and gibbering like a mentaller. Consequently, other parts of me are now in torment.
This is, I should remember, the life of a Victorian woman, prone to coughing up lungs etc, who has been cruelly transposed into the 21st century and left to fend for herself.
I am a woman out of my time.
Sigh and helas.
In other, less self navel gazey news, we have spent an enjoyable few hours today at a local museum with friends. We had a picnic. We perused the exhibits. We let the children hop around outside like demented frogs.
On the way back to the car I bumped into two people I have not seen in a literal age, which was rather nice, and meant it took quite a long time to get home, due to chattage etc, but it was an enjoyable way to spend an hour.
When we got home, I was attempting to see to some admin that I had suddenly realised was quite urgent, and the cat kept crashing about behind me, darting in and out of the book cases, and knocking things over.
I suddenly realised this probably meant she had achieved the minor miracle of catching something from the garden.
As I was in no fit state to wiggle under book cases I enlisted Tilly, who eventually managed to unearth the world’s smallest and most bedraggled mouse. It was clearly only very new, and had absolutely no clue whatsoever as to what had happened to it.
Luckily for the mouse, Derek is one of the world’s worst hunters, mainly because she does not know she is a cat, and capable of feline cunning. She thinks she is Jason’s adopted and much loved short daughter, or possibly a dog. Anyway, she does catch things every now and again, blind things, old things, new things, ill things, mainly by chance.
When she catches them she rarely knows what to do with them, and mostly, if it is a mouse, she licks it until it has rather a sweet Jedward style hair style, bats it about a bit, and then forgets that if she puts it down and walks away from it, it’s not going to stay there until she gets back.
Tilly took the mouse out into the garden.
Derek scooted out after her, thinking that Tilly had spotted something marvellous in the garden she could play with.
Derek ran round the garden sniffing and looking like a pointer, all the while letting Tilly release the mouse through the fence into next door’s garden, and paying not the slightest attention to what was going on.
She then came inside and tore the book case apart because the mouse had had the cheek to up and leave without her permission.
I think she wanted to try a different hair style on it.