notes from
the MUCK . . .

How does your garden grow? With muck, muck and more muck! I spent much of today finishing the final muck box and then shifting muck from one box to the next. The first box, which the Big Lad is enthusiastically pointing out, has been rotting down for two years now and once we’d removed the top quarter of unrotted material, we found we’d hit the pay dirt.

Monday, January 15, 2007

My Weekend

A couple of years ago I had mono. It was pretty harsh, I couldn't swallow without whimpering, the medication I was on made me hear a choir in my garden and a baby in my room. Since then, neither of these symptoms has returned but I do feel really fucking tired some of the time. I am aware how lame this sounds to most people, but there you go, I really crave sleep some of the time when before I could take it or leave it.

Anywho, this weekend past, I was enjoying a lie in when my mum woke me up...."Ben, who forgot to put the dog in her crate? She's chewed up my camera and crapped all over the place?!?!?!?"

Shit, I thought, it was me. Then through the haze of Friday's excess of 4 cans of beer and a crappy dvd I remembered seeing Bella, the dog in question, asleep in her crate and the house as still as treacle. I went into the living room; crap, LOTS of crap. Shortbread biscuits my mum bought for Christmas and was hoping would help me through the January blues; gone. Mum's new digital camera case; in tatters. New camera, left for dead but mercifully untouched. Leather hand bag; chewed to buggery. Piss; quite a bit.

T.V.; on.

My brother was questioned; he had gone straight to bed. What then, WHAT happened in those precious few hours that I got my precious sleep. Maybe the crate wasn't shut properly, but what about the TV? The remote we have doesn't turn it on and it would take a very purposeful push to turn it on manually. Now, I don't want to harp on about the old wig/head episode or demon mouse horror, but something about this does not sit right and I fear our mischievious pup may well be a patsy for more sinister forces who do not wish to show their faces.

I am certainly not foolish enough to believe that this happened the morning after I watched a film about the Jersey Devil can be put down to mere coincidence.

If it is the ghost of Lassie talking to my dog, could she/he at least have the decency clean up the crap?

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