I've been experimenting with music for the Little Lady. She seems to enjoy my normal car music (usually indie or rock) well enough given her kicking and wriggling but I don't see myself being able to calm her to sleep with that in the future :)
So I've been playing the piano to her. Beethoven, Mozart, Bach and Mendelsohn seem ok - she wriggles a bit, jazz gets no reaction at all (I'm glad because jazz is not my style) and baroque was met with a little kick.
However.....I found out after an afternoon of playing she adores the Maple Leaf Rag. Every single time I play it she goes crazy in there. However, I can't play the whole thing. I used to be able to, but it has been a while since I seriously practiced mainly because the dogs when puppies would howl and it pissed the neighbours off. Plus Darth Lila ate my copy of the Maple Leaf Rag...
She likes it when I play it on the computer, but if I play it on the piano you can actually see her moving in there! I guess I need to go buy the music again, and get practicing.
I don't think I'll play the clarinet to her. I'm not going to have enough time to start really practicing that as well!
Showing posts with label I have a cunning plan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I have a cunning plan. Show all posts
Friday, 21 March 2008
Thursday, 19 April 2007
Tuesday, 17 April 2007
The Front Garden
The dogs have destroyed the back garden. We knew it would happen - they love chasing each other and wrestling each other (lots of noise and bared teeth, much to the amusement of the neighbours), and the end result is soil and stones everywhere.
Not, of course, to mention the pollution of our once great vegetable beds.
We were resigned to this from the day that Darth Lila came home. Zach Attack! was just the icing on the dog poo cake. Not a cake I particularly wish to eat, as it happens. We knew our days of veg growing were numbered.
Until I pruned the roses.
Once upon a time, roses festooned our garage. At some uncertain point in time, they got the arse and buggered off. In their place were thistles. Thistles with a mission to overtake our village. To achieve that, they joined forces with the ivy already growing over the wall and roof and set about their aim.
It had got to the point that just walking down our path was a dice with danger. If the wind was blowing, you ran the risk of getting whacked in the face by a rogue offshoot of the power seeking thistles.
Once blinded, you then were free to trip over the paving stones that were slowly shifting position. Our conifer was jealous of the expansion plans of the thistles and was staging its own little rebellion by reaching for the stars and for the North Sea. The roots were forcing our path up and out, and many is the time that I have been labrador propelled down the path and ended up on my arse outside the garage because I got poked in the eye by a thistle and then tripped over the damn paving stone.
(I'd like to say that is how I broke my toe for the fifth time. But it would be a steaming pile of hotspur)
So after my latest mishap I decided to prune the thistles. I'd been putting it off for a while, partly through idleitis, partly through shit weather and partly because the Baron had hidden the good tools from me.
But the sun was shining and I was feeling like a little gardening.
I like pruning. It feeds the destructive little monster that resides within me that has little outlet in real life. Readers, I got my revenge on those thistles.
In fact, it would be fair to say that I decimated the buggers. They are gone. Not just the thistles that were taking over the garage, but the thistles that had staked a claim under the conifer, the thistles under the huge tree that I am allergic to but have no idea what it is, and the thistles that were slowly strangling the compost bin.
All gone.
The problem was that once that was all cleared, the garden, or overgrown helllhole as we affectionately call it, looked very lopsided. The trees looked out of place. It just wasn't right.
A vision of what could be floated before my eyes. An endless row of beans and peas taking the place of the ivy. Pots of carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, sweetcorn, courgettes and spinach where human feet could not currently tread. Hanging baskets of strawberries instead of thistles. Herbs instead of dead leaves.
And the monster inside called for more.
So I began a more extensive deforestation programme. The conifer tree was the first victim, and was surprisingly easy to deal with, given that it was over eight feet tall and I am just over five feet two.
One spade + one pair of shears + one determined Mouse = one ex tree
The second tree was a little more complicated. The above equation was not going to work. But that led to a new problem.
The rules of our house are simple. They have been refined throughout our nearly twelve years together (seven of which have been under a shared roof):
The Baron must turn his socks out the right way before putting them in the washing basket.
The Baron must empty his pockets before putting dirty clothes in the washing basket.
The Baron must put the seat down.
The Baron must be dropped off at the hospital if a cat needs emergency vet treatment.
Mouse cannot play the guitar if the Baron is in the house.
Mouse may not light candles unless there is a power cut or the cats are held hostage in a separate locked room.
Mouse must never ever ever use power tools without adult supervision.
Reinforcement was clearly needed in order for the house rules to be obeyed.
The Baron was very shocked to get out of bed and find most of the front garden neatly piled in one corner. He was even more shocked to be presented with a bacon sandwich, the electric saw and a request to remove an entire tree.
Bless him, he ate up and did as he was told.
One Baron armed with power tools + one Mouse in a supervisory role = another ex tree
I won't bore you with the details of actually clearing the remains of our newly discovered garden. It involved a fuck off huge bonfire, a disagreement with the neighbours visitors over the aforementioned bonfire, some fun with the hosepipe putting out the aforementioned bonfire, multiple trips to the recycling centre, a lost pair of gloves and a lot of sneezing.
The garden was a blank canvas. The vision was a step closer to reality. We would grow vegetables again, oh yes, we would.
The final step was the hardest.
Digging is bloody knackering. The Baron was very dedicated and really put his back into it. On the other hand, I would dig for fifteen minutes, bugger off and enjoy a cold beer and then come back for another fifteen minutes. Naturally the pace slowed as the alcohol consumption increased. I am a lush, after all, and I have just discovered a new lager from Barbados that slid down a treat.
Hey, it WAS a hot day.
But there was a corner that neither of us wanted to touch.
Just over two years ago, we placed my soul cat in a small hole in the front garden. We had planned to leave that corner alone and let him rest in peace. Something the little bastard never extended to me in life.
But the root ball of another plant had grown in to that spot and needed to be removed. With heavy hearts, we set to it.
For the record, two years is not enough time to fully decompose one small fluffy and evil cat.
Additionally, for the record, the Baron is petrified of remains of any sort. Which meant he dug with his eyes shut and ran away when he felt a crunch, leaving me to see that he had put the spade through my special cats skull, which still, after two years had the one tooth in it that was due to be cleaned before he was killed.
It's bad enough that I had to put him in that hole, but to have to remove bits of him again and put him in the bin (nowhere else safe to put him) was too much. I don't think there is alcohol enough in the world to make that better.
However, it had to be done and I am glad that it was me that did it. It was not a job I could have in all good conscience asked someone else to do. He was my cat.
But the work is all finished. The front garden is now awaiting the Great Planting Event of 2007, scheduled to take place in a few weeks when my seedlings are a little hardier.
As Bob would say. Job done. For now.
Not, of course, to mention the pollution of our once great vegetable beds.
We were resigned to this from the day that Darth Lila came home. Zach Attack! was just the icing on the dog poo cake. Not a cake I particularly wish to eat, as it happens. We knew our days of veg growing were numbered.
Until I pruned the roses.
Once upon a time, roses festooned our garage. At some uncertain point in time, they got the arse and buggered off. In their place were thistles. Thistles with a mission to overtake our village. To achieve that, they joined forces with the ivy already growing over the wall and roof and set about their aim.
It had got to the point that just walking down our path was a dice with danger. If the wind was blowing, you ran the risk of getting whacked in the face by a rogue offshoot of the power seeking thistles.
Once blinded, you then were free to trip over the paving stones that were slowly shifting position. Our conifer was jealous of the expansion plans of the thistles and was staging its own little rebellion by reaching for the stars and for the North Sea. The roots were forcing our path up and out, and many is the time that I have been labrador propelled down the path and ended up on my arse outside the garage because I got poked in the eye by a thistle and then tripped over the damn paving stone.
(I'd like to say that is how I broke my toe for the fifth time. But it would be a steaming pile of hotspur)
So after my latest mishap I decided to prune the thistles. I'd been putting it off for a while, partly through idleitis, partly through shit weather and partly because the Baron had hidden the good tools from me.
But the sun was shining and I was feeling like a little gardening.
I like pruning. It feeds the destructive little monster that resides within me that has little outlet in real life. Readers, I got my revenge on those thistles.
In fact, it would be fair to say that I decimated the buggers. They are gone. Not just the thistles that were taking over the garage, but the thistles that had staked a claim under the conifer, the thistles under the huge tree that I am allergic to but have no idea what it is, and the thistles that were slowly strangling the compost bin.
All gone.
The problem was that once that was all cleared, the garden, or overgrown helllhole as we affectionately call it, looked very lopsided. The trees looked out of place. It just wasn't right.
A vision of what could be floated before my eyes. An endless row of beans and peas taking the place of the ivy. Pots of carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, sweetcorn, courgettes and spinach where human feet could not currently tread. Hanging baskets of strawberries instead of thistles. Herbs instead of dead leaves.
And the monster inside called for more.
So I began a more extensive deforestation programme. The conifer tree was the first victim, and was surprisingly easy to deal with, given that it was over eight feet tall and I am just over five feet two.
One spade + one pair of shears + one determined Mouse = one ex tree
The second tree was a little more complicated. The above equation was not going to work. But that led to a new problem.
The rules of our house are simple. They have been refined throughout our nearly twelve years together (seven of which have been under a shared roof):
The Baron must turn his socks out the right way before putting them in the washing basket.
The Baron must empty his pockets before putting dirty clothes in the washing basket.
The Baron must put the seat down.
The Baron must be dropped off at the hospital if a cat needs emergency vet treatment.
Mouse cannot play the guitar if the Baron is in the house.
Mouse may not light candles unless there is a power cut or the cats are held hostage in a separate locked room.
Mouse must never ever ever use power tools without adult supervision.
Reinforcement was clearly needed in order for the house rules to be obeyed.
The Baron was very shocked to get out of bed and find most of the front garden neatly piled in one corner. He was even more shocked to be presented with a bacon sandwich, the electric saw and a request to remove an entire tree.
Bless him, he ate up and did as he was told.
One Baron armed with power tools + one Mouse in a supervisory role = another ex tree
I won't bore you with the details of actually clearing the remains of our newly discovered garden. It involved a fuck off huge bonfire, a disagreement with the neighbours visitors over the aforementioned bonfire, some fun with the hosepipe putting out the aforementioned bonfire, multiple trips to the recycling centre, a lost pair of gloves and a lot of sneezing.
The garden was a blank canvas. The vision was a step closer to reality. We would grow vegetables again, oh yes, we would.
The final step was the hardest.
Digging is bloody knackering. The Baron was very dedicated and really put his back into it. On the other hand, I would dig for fifteen minutes, bugger off and enjoy a cold beer and then come back for another fifteen minutes. Naturally the pace slowed as the alcohol consumption increased. I am a lush, after all, and I have just discovered a new lager from Barbados that slid down a treat.
Hey, it WAS a hot day.
But there was a corner that neither of us wanted to touch.
Just over two years ago, we placed my soul cat in a small hole in the front garden. We had planned to leave that corner alone and let him rest in peace. Something the little bastard never extended to me in life.
But the root ball of another plant had grown in to that spot and needed to be removed. With heavy hearts, we set to it.
For the record, two years is not enough time to fully decompose one small fluffy and evil cat.
Additionally, for the record, the Baron is petrified of remains of any sort. Which meant he dug with his eyes shut and ran away when he felt a crunch, leaving me to see that he had put the spade through my special cats skull, which still, after two years had the one tooth in it that was due to be cleaned before he was killed.
It's bad enough that I had to put him in that hole, but to have to remove bits of him again and put him in the bin (nowhere else safe to put him) was too much. I don't think there is alcohol enough in the world to make that better.
However, it had to be done and I am glad that it was me that did it. It was not a job I could have in all good conscience asked someone else to do. He was my cat.
But the work is all finished. The front garden is now awaiting the Great Planting Event of 2007, scheduled to take place in a few weeks when my seedlings are a little hardier.
As Bob would say. Job done. For now.
Sunday, 7 December 2003
Busy bee
The sun is shining and it is a fabulous day. Really cold and crisp. I am sat upstairs by the window, with a steaming mocha coffee.
I've been a busy bee.
I have washed the bed clothes, got dinner defrosting (beautiful joint of top rump beef), and once I finish this lovely coffee, I am going to tackle the frozen wastes of my freezer. I know I have said this all week, but I am really going to do it. Sunday is the day I do my meal planning, so I need to get it done.
Then I am going to count all the bottles in the bathroom for my little inventory. I know I have enough toothpaste to last at least a year, but soap I am not so sure about.
Once that is done, I need to sort through my dry goods shelf. And of course, whilst I am doing all this, I need to do the washing and drying. Drying is hard (no tumble drier and it is damp by about 3pm) so I string things over the curtain rail upstairs (the one that is on the balcony) and try to dry them on that. If I open the skylight, it works ok. Fab in the summer though.
Then I can sit down (probably with a cup of orange tea and some biscuits I bought in France) and do my meal planning, and plan my jobs for the week. I need to call the vet for the cats medication (that icky stuff you put on their necks for worms and fleas), the nurse for my medication (the pill, which Frankie likes to steal from my shelf and hide, which is why I need to get some more in just in case he changes his hidey hole!) and I need to sort out the repairs for the car.
Well the coffee is nearing the end of the mug, so I ought to start making a move. I WILL do the freezer, I WILL do the freezer. Wish me luck! If you don't hear from me soon, then I have been crushed by a tottering pile of frozen chicken parts!
I've been a busy bee.
I have washed the bed clothes, got dinner defrosting (beautiful joint of top rump beef), and once I finish this lovely coffee, I am going to tackle the frozen wastes of my freezer. I know I have said this all week, but I am really going to do it. Sunday is the day I do my meal planning, so I need to get it done.
Then I am going to count all the bottles in the bathroom for my little inventory. I know I have enough toothpaste to last at least a year, but soap I am not so sure about.
Once that is done, I need to sort through my dry goods shelf. And of course, whilst I am doing all this, I need to do the washing and drying. Drying is hard (no tumble drier and it is damp by about 3pm) so I string things over the curtain rail upstairs (the one that is on the balcony) and try to dry them on that. If I open the skylight, it works ok. Fab in the summer though.
Then I can sit down (probably with a cup of orange tea and some biscuits I bought in France) and do my meal planning, and plan my jobs for the week. I need to call the vet for the cats medication (that icky stuff you put on their necks for worms and fleas), the nurse for my medication (the pill, which Frankie likes to steal from my shelf and hide, which is why I need to get some more in just in case he changes his hidey hole!) and I need to sort out the repairs for the car.
Well the coffee is nearing the end of the mug, so I ought to start making a move. I WILL do the freezer, I WILL do the freezer. Wish me luck! If you don't hear from me soon, then I have been crushed by a tottering pile of frozen chicken parts!
Friday, 5 December 2003
Shopping
Yesterday, I did some more shopping. I got the Baron's present, and something for my mum. We will share it as she doesn't have a computer of her own to use - it is the CSI computer game. She is well into it, and ironically has just got back from Vegas.
Dad's is on order, as is a couple of other things, so we are nearly all done.
I also bought a desk yesterday. Previously we had a footstool under the bed next to the desk I am using now, but that has gone downstairs and my desk is under here as well. Very officey. I also got a leather A4 zipped folder to take to meetings. I feel so grown up with it!
Dad's is on order, as is a couple of other things, so we are nearly all done.
I also bought a desk yesterday. Previously we had a footstool under the bed next to the desk I am using now, but that has gone downstairs and my desk is under here as well. Very officey. I also got a leather A4 zipped folder to take to meetings. I feel so grown up with it!
Wednesday, 26 November 2003
Day off!
Ok. Another interview today, and a meeting with an agency. And it gets better, because................it's my DAY OFF!
Baron Greenback is working late, so I have the house to myself this evening. That means I can have fish for dinner (he hates it) and I can watch the programmes I like on TV tonight.
Unfortunately he hasn't to work gone yet, so he is in bed snoring (again).
So it is 10AM now. Time to put some washing on, tidy the kitchen and living room, put some clothes away, have a shower and work out where I am going for these meetings. And then go.
I can then come home, tidy up the wardrobe (we keep food in there and not clothes) and make a shopping list, make some phone calls, do some more washing, maybe go shopping now whilst I am off, go to the Post Office and then slump in front of the TV!
Other than that, I think the only thing I need to do is print off some coupons. I found some online sites that gives me coupons, and my store takes them even if I don't buy the products. Plus I have some general store money off vouchers, so I might use them too. I was going to save them for after Christmas, but I think they will be better used in the pre Christmas sales.
Off to my jobs!
Baron Greenback is working late, so I have the house to myself this evening. That means I can have fish for dinner (he hates it) and I can watch the programmes I like on TV tonight.
Unfortunately he hasn't to work gone yet, so he is in bed snoring (again).
So it is 10AM now. Time to put some washing on, tidy the kitchen and living room, put some clothes away, have a shower and work out where I am going for these meetings. And then go.
I can then come home, tidy up the wardrobe (we keep food in there and not clothes) and make a shopping list, make some phone calls, do some more washing, maybe go shopping now whilst I am off, go to the Post Office and then slump in front of the TV!
Other than that, I think the only thing I need to do is print off some coupons. I found some online sites that gives me coupons, and my store takes them even if I don't buy the products. Plus I have some general store money off vouchers, so I might use them too. I was going to save them for after Christmas, but I think they will be better used in the pre Christmas sales.
Off to my jobs!
Saturday, 22 November 2003
Must remember to post
So I forgot to post yesterday.
In fairness I was at work for most of the day, and I was knackered when I got home. All I did was push crates around and answer stupid questions.
I am about to get ready for another 6 hours of crate pushing and stupid questions. But it does get me out of cooking Sunday lunch! And I get paid time and a half. And the icing on the cake is that I don't have to do the washing whilst I am at work!!!!!!!
My sister is moving house tomorrow. To just down the road from here. She thinks that I am going to move boxes whilst she supervises. I have an interview tomorrow, and so that is not going to be happening. And I am not her slave - she is just idle!
Shit - I have to be at work in twenty minutes and I am sat here in my jama's. And I haven't had breakfast yet. Ok - I am bone idle too!!!!
That will have to do for the latest installment. Anyone want to swap lives yet?
In fairness I was at work for most of the day, and I was knackered when I got home. All I did was push crates around and answer stupid questions.
I am about to get ready for another 6 hours of crate pushing and stupid questions. But it does get me out of cooking Sunday lunch! And I get paid time and a half. And the icing on the cake is that I don't have to do the washing whilst I am at work!!!!!!!
My sister is moving house tomorrow. To just down the road from here. She thinks that I am going to move boxes whilst she supervises. I have an interview tomorrow, and so that is not going to be happening. And I am not her slave - she is just idle!
Shit - I have to be at work in twenty minutes and I am sat here in my jama's. And I haven't had breakfast yet. Ok - I am bone idle too!!!!
That will have to do for the latest installment. Anyone want to swap lives yet?
Friday, 21 November 2003
I have a Blog!
So I have done it. I have a Blog! Now I just have to remember to post!
I am DMouse. I am not technically unemployed, despite my current title, but I wish I was. I am a food stock advisor (read shelf stacker) at the local M&S for minimum wage. I am really a chartered accountant, but due to issues with my last employer, I am not actually working as one at the moment. Not through lack of trying though.
So.....................I live with the Baron and three lunatic cats. Life is fur covered. At the moment the three monsters are fast asleep, and will stay so until about 3AM, when they begin hunting exercises. Unfortunately their training ground is our bed, and the targets are my toes. Rubber bullets are not used, and I bear the scars to prove this.
The Baron is watching some film downstairs. It is quiet at the moment, so I am catching up on some reading. I suppose I should really be catching up on some washing, but since that is boring, I am not going to. Until we are almost out of clean clothes.
Anyway. That will do for tonight, methinks.
I am DMouse. I am not technically unemployed, despite my current title, but I wish I was. I am a food stock advisor (read shelf stacker) at the local M&S for minimum wage. I am really a chartered accountant, but due to issues with my last employer, I am not actually working as one at the moment. Not through lack of trying though.
So.....................I live with the Baron and three lunatic cats. Life is fur covered. At the moment the three monsters are fast asleep, and will stay so until about 3AM, when they begin hunting exercises. Unfortunately their training ground is our bed, and the targets are my toes. Rubber bullets are not used, and I bear the scars to prove this.
The Baron is watching some film downstairs. It is quiet at the moment, so I am catching up on some reading. I suppose I should really be catching up on some washing, but since that is boring, I am not going to. Until we are almost out of clean clothes.
Anyway. That will do for tonight, methinks.
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