To start with, something landed on my foot while I was gardening, something slimy, pulsating and heavy. I screamed. Then there was the something in the bag of raw cashews, it had wings and fluttered. I screamed. Still on the food-related freaking out-ness, there was the writhing something in the bag if flour. I screamed. The cat brought the next scream as he showed off his war wound, a near-detached nipple.
The final freakiness came as Noel leapt up from the computer chair where he’s been struggling with contrary code all day and did the Programmer’s Dance.I screamed – with laughter.
Really frogs are nothing to scream about, they hide out in the garden and eat the slugs, one of them even lives in a tiny algae-filled plant pot on the wall. Harmless and quite cute, just a bit of a shock when they land on your foot.I named him Lindisfarne as he was the frog on the thyme.
A moth in the cashews shouldn’t rate high of the scale of Things That Make You Freak Out, it was just the thought that it may not be alone in that sealed bag and I certainly wasn’t going to find out. Nor was I going to make the 40-mile round trip to return the £3.99 bag, into the bin it went.
The same fate awaited the caterpillar in the flour, which was whisked manfully away by Noel, once he’d cleared up all the glass shattered by my piercing screams. I mean, I touched it and it moved. Ewwww. Thank goodness I always sift flour before it goes cakeside. I assured Ruth, whose anniversary cake I was making, that the caterpillar never made it to the mixture. As the mother of three boys she was quite relaxed about it, there’s not a lot she hasn’t seen on the freaky and gross side. So long as the cake was baked through, she said,. that extra bit of protein wouldn’t matter. Noel must have thought he was comforting me when he pointed out that in the bakery where he worked as a student, there were always moths flying out of the flour. That really didn’t help.
The cat nipple incident is just too gross to recount. Cat is strutting his stuff and asserting his manhood in the ginnels of Calverley taking on all other cats who cross his path. He’s almost triumphant as he limps through the cat flap after another feline fighting session. He must think we’ll feed him ridiculously expensive food and share our salmon and chicken with him because we feel sorry for him. He’s right.
Noel’s working on something very geeky involving programming and multi-screen faffing. He’s been struggling with. well, something complicated phrased in brackets, slashes, numbers and different coloured text. JQuery anyone? Anyway, he’s been mumbling in his sleep, sitting up bolt upright and tearing his hair out as his brain works overtime trying to solve the problem, which he explained to me in some detail, but all I heard was la la la la la la la la la la . Finally, the brackets fell into place and Noel leapt to his feet and moved in a way I’ve never seen him move before, arms windmilling, legs high-kicking, bottom wiggling. It was, he informed me, the Programmers Dance, performed at times when great code becomes genius code. Rarely seen, seldom repeated and now I’ve seen it, I know why.