A Kooky Wisdom of Bonnie Delight

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Here’s the story of televisions, heat, and a bad Scottish accent.

I’d be lying if I said we weren’t worried about dad when he ran in the house screaming about the washing. I mean, he is 63, so senility is a very real possibility, but as mum was telling me recently, he’s been like that since they got married 42 years ago. 42 years this week, incidentally. We also rarely see dad run, so we knew something was wrong. “WASHING! THE WASHING IS GONE!” He shouted. He was referring to the washing hanging in the back garden. He didn’t know mum had brought it in earlier. So he naturally assumed someone had stolen it. As you do. I don’t know who’d want my underwear. Well, I say that, but I once knew this girl who – you know what, that’s a story you don’t want to know…

Mum and dad are going to Dublin this week to celebrate their anniversary. My grandma was from there, as well. It means I have the house to myself for five days, so if I don’t post anything next week, I’ve probably accidentally burnt the house down like I almost did last time. And the time before that. And, erm, the one before that, too. Actually, I can’t remember if there was a time I didn’t almost accidentally burn the house down. That’s not good. That’s not good at all.

We’ve had a lovely week of gorgeous sunshine, which I’ve absolutely hated because it brings the kids out and you all know how much I hate kids. Noisy buggers. Thankfully, it’s due to rain next week, which means it’ll be a nice quiet week for me. And any fires I cause should be put out pretty quickly. And hey, it’s not just the kids. I’ve been out today in 20 degree heat and I’m starting to look like a prune. Purple and wrinkly. That’s not a good look, readers, it really isn’t.

My mother and father are of the idea that one must clean the house before one goes away. That’s sound advice, until it involves me, which it, somewhat inevitably, always does. Because the sun was shining, dad had this great idea to swap some televisions around in the house. Needless to say, this ‘five minute job’ as he described it, lasted more than three hours. More than three hours of hard work in very high temperatures for this part of the world. My hair doesn’t like heat. After more than three hours, I looked like 1980s Bonnie Tyler on top of a blustery mountain.

“Okay, let’s get the 40 inch television out of the shed”, said dad. “What,  the one sandwiched in like a sardine?” “Yup.” Oh, spiffing. That took an hour. An hour of sweat and blood as the sharp cardboard edges of the box it was in ripped my hands to shreds. I was struggling to breathe as my hay fever ate away at my insides. “No time for a break”, he said, “this is nothing compared to the work we had to do in my day.”

So I picked myself up off the floor and crawled to the garden bench to use it as an aid to help me stand up since my legs had stopped working. We had to take out the old television in the conservatory and replace it with the new one. I then had to climb behind the cabinet, arse in the air, to sort out the jumble of wires. Needless to say, I jumped out of my skin when a spider the size of Jupiter reared its ugly face. From a conservatory of relative quiet came, “ARRGH! JESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE FRICKIN’ HELL IS THAT?”

Dad doesn’t have a great heart these days so my outburst nearly gave him a heart attack. Mum started panicking. It was like a scene from an old time silent comedy. Dad picked up the spider with one of those grabber thingamajigs and threw it in the garden. I’m sure I heard it shout ‘freedom’ in a terrible Scottish accent…

So we put the new television on the cabinet and took the old one down from the wall. That one was due to be moved upstairs into mother’s sewing room. So we had to take the one down that was already in her sewing room and replace it with the now old one from the conservatory. We quickly realised it didn’t fit. So after two hours of wrangling televisions off walls, far harder than it sounds, we were in a conundrum. “Ah!” Said father. “I got an idea!” Oh, God help us.

His idea was to take the television off the wall of his and mum’s bedroom and replace it with the one from the sewing room, but the one from the sewing room didn’t fit, so we tried the one from the conservatory, which did fit, but only on two screws, so it’s now sort of lopsided. We then put the one from that bedroom into the sewing room and the other one in the kitchen. It wasn’t the end of the saga, though.

We couldn’t find the stand for the new kitchen television so dad had me go into the attic and have a rummage around for it. After half an hour, it became quite apparent that I was getting nowhere. So I gave up. But then something occurred to dad. It could be in the garage. He said he’d have a look for it. ‘Brilliant’, I thought, ‘now he’ll know the hell I went through in the attic.’ It took him five minutes to find it.

Words fails me.

So, all is well in the world? Not quite. Because as we started to munch on some much deserved Neapolitan ice cream, we heard an almighty bang from the sewing room. Oh, crap. It bloody came off the wall. So we then spent some more time trying to fix that. Needless to say, I’m staggered I’m still standing.

I was out today taking photos. I look like a prune and I am in need of a hero (one for the Tyler fans). I’ve counted 10 blisters on my feet. TEN! I only walked a couple hundred yards. Those blisters didn’t put me a better mood than I am in, the one I’m in not being very great. Stupid summer birds. Every bloody morning. At five, on the dot. Chirping away like its bloody Christmas. SHUT YOUR BLOODY CHICKS UP, BIRD PARENTS! I don’t care if they’re hungry, shut them up! Ridiculous. What makes it worse is that we have lots of cats around here, like one of those Spanish towns. So shortly after five, you hear the deafening screech of cats trying to catch the birds. Oh my word, talk about war of the worlds…

You know what I needed after all this? Yeah, you’re right. Another one of dad’s crazy ideas.

“Here’s a hot cuppa tea, that’ll cool you down”, he just said.

WHAT? That doesn’t even make any sense!

Yet another gem from his ‘Wisdom of 1932’ collection…

American writer, Jarod Kintz (b. 1982), once said, “Love is like a door knob that I’ve mistaken for a shower handle, and I’m trying to turn up the heat on our relationship, but the handle won’t turn and I’ve got shampoo in my eyes and my wetsuit is dry and I started crying just as the zookeeper asked me to leave.”

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the archives page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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