What is Hot?

A seemingly simple question, however the way my Blob has been carrying on this weekend, you would assume that she hadn't quite worked it out!

• Pan handles left over a burning gas ring are hot.
• The cast iron door handle on the woodburner when its burning is hot.
• The water out of the kettle when it has boiled is hot.
• Lead free solder when touched by a soldering iron is very very hot.
• Metal zips straight out of the drying cycle are hot.

Blob must have forgotten however she is now well aware of all the above! Any one who remotely cares about Blob should perhaps not think too hard about this - but she wants me to tell you that she is ok and that Blisters show character - or is that scars - or perhaps tattoos?

It appears that she can't remember what Blisters show exactly. I would hazard a guess that Blisters show a degree of absent mindedness, carelessness, an inability to focus on the task in hand - or perhaps early onset dementia.

Looking at her mother I would suggest that the latter is probably the most likely.

Blob wants it known that Colin Firth in wet jodphurs is also hot, but lets face it, if she ever gets close enough to Colin Firth with or without the wet jodphurs to actually burn herself then Ill eat that rubbish cat food from Asda she bought and then had to donate to Cats Protection.

Bed time now because I lost an hour last night and am likely to be tired and sleepy until the clocks go back in October.

Bob

A Long Weekend

Today is Thursday and Blob has had a long day. She came home at 9.00 this evening too tired even to be bad tempered. To be fair she had gone to a works do after work, which involved betting on filmed races and eating fish and chips. It was for charity so Blob didn't begrudge the time, but she is eminently relieved that she is not working tomorrow.

Not that she can lounge about in bed all day like a loungy about in bed type of person because she has plans that involve emptying the shed, fixing the swing seat, and sweeping the patio. It also involves tidying up the herbs, getting down and dirty in her compost bin, working out where in the tiniest garden in the world she will be putting her potato bags and carrot sacks. Then she wants to go to Homebase in the 15% off session this weekend for some seedings, normal compost to dilute her extremely rich compost complete with egg shells and tomato seeds, and perhaps a barbeque seeing as the cold weather over winter shattered her chiminea.

All of this, plus the usual tidying, hoovering and general housework that needs to be accomplished during the weekend and a fun afternoon out on Sunday doing a treasure hunt at Chessington World of Adventures.

She has teamed up with three pals from work, and they are calling their team the Grumpy Old Women, although Blob did suggest they called themselves 'Hot Babes on Tour' but seeing as she is younger by the others by at least 10 years (although you wouldn't know it to look at her - especially when her back is bad!) she was shouted down by the Grumpy Old Women and that is what they will be called.

So she is going to bed with a smile on her face and a hypothetical bounce in her step - hypothetical because she has been wearing heels all day and has no bounce left in her step or anywhere else for that matter.

And i particularly love a long weekend - I get to wake her up; I get to rummage about in the flower bed and the shed; I get to get in her way when she's wielding a soldering iron; I get to wait til she has mopped the floor and then drop my food on it, and sit on her clean laundry after i've been tramping about on her chamomile/mud lawn.

Hooray for long weekends, hooray for Blob and most of all, hooray for me.

Bob.

A Riddle

What do you get when you have taken all the weeds and moss out of a chamomile lawn?

That's what Blob has been doing today. Hours of concentration, back ache, muddy knees, torn fingernails, and a couple of nasty cuts and Blob has removed nearly all the moss and all the weeds from her precious chamomile lawn.

In her favour, it has been a hard winter which probably hasn't done any gardens any good, but it was with a somewhat woeful expression that she finally finished, loaded the car with weeds and prunings for the dump and then stood back to admire her work.

So the answer to 'What do you get when you have taken all the weeds and moss out of a chamomile lawn?'

'MUD!'

Bob.

Saturday Nights for Fighting ...

Well it used to be.

Not any more. No, Saturday Nights are now for slobbing out in front of the telly, eating ice cream and basking in the heat of the woodburner. They are also apparently for dying hair (not mine I hasten to add!) painting toe nails (again not mine thankfully) and deciding what sort of potatoes should be planted for the autumn. Blob wants to try pink fir apples again despite the fact they have a low yield -

"Nutty and Creamy" Blob says,

"So what!" I say, "Put some more coal on the fire if you don't mind, and stop drooling over a somewhat blond and pretty Nicholas Nickleby"

"Christopher Plummer ain't bad either" says Blob ignoring my requests for more heat. I could die of hypothermia whilst she sits there lusting over Dickens dramatisations.

She was lusting over Mr Darcy earlier today in the Pride and Prejudice adaptation with Kiera Nightdress or what ever her name is, although she is the first to admit that this Mr Darcy was nothing when compared to Colin Firth in wet jodphurs!

"And why is there no Casualty on tonight?" she complains

"And why is there still no more coal on the fire?" I complain

We appear to have turned ignoring each other into a fine art.

She now needs to go and wash the dye out of her hair - to night she is going chestnut.

"That's ginger in layman's terms isn't it?" I mutter as she leaves the room,

"No - not ginger - chestnut like horses!" she yells as she goes up stairs.

"Ginger!" I mumble to myself whilst I snigger into my paws.

She'll be down in about half an hour looking damp and ginger!

Best I get some kip before hand so I have the energy to laugh.

Bob

Nearly Springtime at Wisley

Blob went to Wisley on Monday afternoon. Her Aunty very kindly got her a membership so she can go whenever she wants. I have to point out that she doesn't take me but if she did it would mean a reduction in my sleeping hours which would not be a good thing!

Anyway, its not quite spring yet, but Blob was very impressed with the crocus blanket. So impressed that she took a video of it.

She also likes the Wild Garden and commented that at this time of year it seems wilder than at other times despite the fact there is little much less foliage. She took a video of a very wild looking tree.

It appears that there is more than one type of tree. There are deciduous and evergreens. The deciduous ones get naked in the winter. Heres a picture of one that in the autumn looks like its on fire because of the glorious colour the leaves go. Now however, it is very naked indeed, but Blob reckons that there is something particularly beautiful about naked trees. (No accounting for taste I suppose).

The other sort, the evergreens, are ones that keep their greenery all year. I know about those because there are some opposite my house. The best thing about evergreens is that little birds called 'FireCrest's' live in them. Heres a picture of a FireCrest.

I know that Blob likes birds so i brought her one of these. She wasn't as happy as she could have been and ranted for a bit because apparently they are protected ... not sure what protected means but it put up a damn fine fight before i laid it reverently on her pillow.

I was a bit surprised at her reaction because she used to have a bird. It was a big one called Barnabus and it was about six years ago that Barnabus went quiet. I think she should have fed him to me, but she didn't. She put him in the freezer. (She didn't put the FireCrest in the freezer.) Then one day she took it's little frozen body to her sisters where they planted a witchhazel over it. Witchhazel is a shrubby tree and I only mention it because there was a pretty one in flower at Wisley. So pretty that she took another picture. This one is in memory of Barnabus.

I wonder what she'll do with me when i pop my clogs. If i keep up my sleep marathons, i could die in front of the fire and she wouldn't notice for a week or so. That could be an amusing end!

Talking of dead cats - heres a picture of a cat she found in the Alpine garden hot house. It might have been dead because it didn't move when she moved in for a photo. Apparently its name is Sunny and it lives at Wisley. I wouldn't mind sleeping in a greenhouse all day - I wonder if they have any vacancies?

Must send off for an application form.


Bob

More Big Cats!

Its getting worse - she has been playing on the internet and discovered the second biggest domestic cat.

Surprisingly enough its not me!

We are now looking at pictures of Norwegian Forest Cats.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norwegian_Forest_Cat

I have no idea what is going through her mind at the moment - I mean, who would want to live with a cat that looks like this:

She can look all she wants, I have no problem with her window shopping.

As long as its me that gets to follow her about, trip her up, wipe my feet on her laundry, and take over two thirds of the bed every night.

Like I said, not on my watch!

Bob

Big Cats!

Yesterday Blob who feeds me, went to Shoreham by sea to visit her Godmother Jacky and her Auntie - the one who has nearly bought a bungalow.

There were three car accidents on the way and it took her nearly three hours to drive the 48 miles. Nightmare.

Anyway, whilst there Blob explained that although I am a big cat, there are bigger cats out there, and we are not talking about escaped tigers or the Surrey Puma. There is a breed of cat called Maine Coon (here's a link to Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maine_Coon). The Maine Coon is one of the oldest breeds in North America.

Heres a picture of one which shows you how big they are!

Blob thinks that she wants one. Well I have only one thing to say about that ....

....Not on my watch!

Bob.

Nearly!

Blob is having a nearly evening.

She has nearly finished a poem she promised to write for someone (nearly started is probably closer to the truth) and she has until start of play on Monday morning to finish it.

She nearly finished a mothers day card for her mother, and then nearly sent it before she thought better of it. She has nearly been good on her diet this week if you forget about the crisps and chocolate.

She has nearly calmed down after a spitting rage for most of last night and today, and she has nearly decided upon a date to have a lunch party in April.

She is nearly watching Pie in the Sky and has nearly finished a list of 'things to do this weekend'.

Its not just Blob that's in a nearly mood. Blob's Aunty has nearly bought a new bungalow and Blobs sister is nearly 40 years old. They are all at it!

I'm not sure that nearly is good for Blob, she is quite out of sorts.

Perhaps she will be less 'nearly' and more 'definitely' tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I shall continue to be nearly asleep on her knee!

Bob

Angry doesn't even come close!

Blob is angry, in fact more than angry - here are some words that may come close to describing how Blob is at the moment:

• Livid
• Enraged
• Incandescent
• Tumultuous
• Wrathful
• Ferocious
• Incensed
• Choleric

Aren't those good words?

Anyway, Blob is all the above and here is why?

Her mother.

Do I need to say anything further?

The strange thing is that her mother hasn't even directly caused this simmering rage - it was following a phone call with Blob's sister that her mood erupted.

I probably don't have to go into details because anyone that knows my Blob will know what a piece of work her mother is, so I will leave it there.

Hopefully the mood will abate soon - perhaps Blob can go and punch something until her knuckles bleed or perhaps a run until her heart feels like its going to come out of her mouth - anything to get rid of the vile poisons that the hateful woman generates unconsciously into the ether.

Fingers crossed it goes away before tea time. (Not holding out much hope on that one!)

Bob

Cornwall? Part 3

And here is the third and final part of the strange tale of the Mystery of the Cornish Ice Cream Cone and Mother.. Stranger in fact than Cornish Pixies and The Legend of Merlin.

Blob spoke to her mother briefly before Christmas to ask where to send her Christmas Card to and was told that she would be moving to Cornwall just in time for Christmas but if it went wrong then she would spend Christmas on Bodmin Moor in a tent. Hypothermia here we come!

The next time we hear from her mother is a card sent mid January with an address that she hasn't moved into yet and a phone number that she is not connected to yet. She was apparently stayng with an old school friend whos name is Madeleine, but who wants to be referred to as Florence for an indefinate period. How does she meet these people?

Now whilst all this was going on, Blob and her sister had wondered why their mother was moving so far away. If she ever got ill and needed help, they are five and six hours away from her respectively. So far away in fact that popping round on a Saturday afternoon for tea wouldn't be feasible. She had basically cut herself off from her friends and family, except for the old school friend Madeleine aka Florence who we have never heard off until now - so she was obviously a very good old friend.

Moving forward to now .... Blob's mother rang and started wittering on like she'd only been talking to her the day before.

The conversation went a little like this, and Blob was very restrained indeed!

Mother: Hello Darlilng, its mummy!

Blob: Hello!

Mother: I've moved into my house!

Blob: Well Done!

Blob didn't say: About Blooming Time!

Mother: I am really happy - its better than I ever remembered.

Blob: Jolly Good.

Blob didn't say: That makes a change!

Mother: I'm having the garage converted so I have a downstairs loo for when i have guests.

Blob: OK?

Blob didn't say: But you live alone - why the hell do you need a second loo?

Mother: And my neighbours are lovely - very friendly!

Blob: Thats good.

Blob didn't say: That won't last - you will be hating them and accusing them of all sorts of persecutionary tactics before the year is out!

Mother: How are you?

Blob: OK?

Blob didn't say: Oh now you ask!

Mother: Well often when I call you you've broken a leg or something!

Blob: Really?

Blob didn't say: What a load of tosh!

Mother: And I never hear from you anyway, I only get news about you when I speak to Rachael - she lets me know if you are ok.

Blob: Uh huh.

Blob didn't say: So you lost my number? That being the reason you couldn't call me? You would rather moan about me never calling you to Rachael than actually pick up the phone?

Mother: Anyway, I'm slowly unpacking!

Blob: That's good.

Blob didn't say: Yes, really slowly, you were at your last place for about 18 years and never unpacked, why would this place be any different?

Mother: So when I've finished you can come and stay - well you could come and stay anytime actually - I expect I could find you a bed.

Blob: Mmmmm.

Blob didn't say: Where the hell has this come from????? You live five hours away! Why would I come and stay?

Mother: Anyway, you have my number and my mobile should you need me.

Blob: Uh huh.

Mother: But you aren't likely to need me are you - I'm much more likely to need you.

Blob: Uh huh.

Blob didn't say: I'm really not liking where this is going!

Mother: So i'll let you get on - and look forward to seeing you when you come and stay.

Blob: Uh huh.

Blob didn't say: Since when was I coming to stay?

Mother: Bye then, Bye.

So as you see, there is an atmosphere of incredulity building in Chez Moi and now hopefully you will understand why.

And here ends Part 3.

Am really tired now after all that so best go get some kip. May need my strength later to help Blob pack for a long weekend in Cornwall!

Bob.

Cornwall? Part 2

This is a continuation of the strange tale of Blobs Mother and her move to Cornwall.

For the rest of the year Blob barely heard from her mother, however via several conversations with her sister we ascertained the following:

• Mother lived in a house in a state of squallor that even my Blob wouldn't lower herself to without reaching for a mop.
• She had tried to improve her house by getting a conservatory attached to the back of it, but apparently had not had a particularly good job done of it.
• She had employed cowboys to bring her house up to a sellable standard. Why she needed americans on horseback with leather hats, chaps and boots to do her house up I have no idea, perhaps its a human thing.
• They were ripping her off left, right and centre.
• She had no hot water and had had none for years and had developed a water leak somewhere in her house.
• She was using the facilities at the local Garden Centre every day because of the lack of facilities at home.
• She didn't go to an estate agent
• She didn't have her HIPS pack.
• She bumped into someone in a queue at the garden centre who suggested that they wanted to buy her house.
• If her house had been in 'normal' condition, she could perhaps have put it on the market for £250k.
• In its current condition, it was valued at £150k.
• She was selling it to this person that she met in a queue in the garden centre for £100k for a quick sale.
• The quick sale took about 4 months!

All the above was discovered second hand from Blobs sister as well as a plea to see if we couldn't raise £100k so her house wouldn't be basically given away, but neither of us could raise that sort of money.

Sad but true!

And that brings us to the end of Part 2.

Bob.