Glorious Mud
It seems like a decade ago, but it was probably only back in October that the House Coating Men set about removing the old coating from the outside walls of our house, and then applying a new coating.
Everyone who looked at it gave a few Tuts and then stared at their boots and muttered "It's a big job."
It is indeed a big job, and it's not finished yet. The house is surrounded by scaffolding. The garden is full of pallets and sacks and ladders and skips and wheelbarrows.
And, particularly, mud.
Three men traipsing across what used to be the back lawn many times a day. Three men walking across the front lawn, and the grassy areas at the sides of the house, over and over again.
You want mud? We have mud. The garden looks like - - - well, the Mud Sea.
This would not be so bad if the mud stayed outside. But it doesn't. It comes in.
In spite of visitors' best efforts in removing their shoes, every entry to the house is accompanied by a couple of gallons of Best British Mud.
And then there's Wendy the cat. We also have another cat, Froggie, but I am exempting her from all blame. It's winter. She's very old, and it's winter. She looks outside with horror, turns round and comes back in. No mud from her.
But Wendy? Ahhhh if Wendy could talk she'd say this:
"OUT of the house! Yessssss! I'm rushing out and round and round the lawn in CIRCLES and now ROUND THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE and ACROSS THE FRONT AND INTO THE WHEELBARROW. Up the pear tree! Down again! Onto the car roof! On the garage roof! Oooooh a bird! I'll chase it! And now - - Wheeeee! Down into the MUD! And - - - repeat the whole lot! - - - - - And - - - repeat! - - And now I'll come into the house, shall I?
Yes - - through the kitchen, on the windowsill, into the dining room, round and round the carpet - -let's look in the office shall I? Oh yes, onto the desk - - some interesting papers here, I'll walk right across them - - and on the keyboard, yes - - and finally - - into the lounge, across the carpet, across the coffee table and onto the windowsill for a little snooze - - ahhhh blissssss."
We have a layer of mud. Everywhere. Inside and out. If by any chance you need any for your living-room, you have only to ask.
Everyone who looked at it gave a few Tuts and then stared at their boots and muttered "It's a big job."
It is indeed a big job, and it's not finished yet. The house is surrounded by scaffolding. The garden is full of pallets and sacks and ladders and skips and wheelbarrows.
And, particularly, mud.
Three men traipsing across what used to be the back lawn many times a day. Three men walking across the front lawn, and the grassy areas at the sides of the house, over and over again.
You want mud? We have mud. The garden looks like - - - well, the Mud Sea.
This would not be so bad if the mud stayed outside. But it doesn't. It comes in.
In spite of visitors' best efforts in removing their shoes, every entry to the house is accompanied by a couple of gallons of Best British Mud.
And then there's Wendy the cat. We also have another cat, Froggie, but I am exempting her from all blame. It's winter. She's very old, and it's winter. She looks outside with horror, turns round and comes back in. No mud from her.
But Wendy? Ahhhh if Wendy could talk she'd say this:
"OUT of the house! Yessssss! I'm rushing out and round and round the lawn in CIRCLES and now ROUND THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE and ACROSS THE FRONT AND INTO THE WHEELBARROW. Up the pear tree! Down again! Onto the car roof! On the garage roof! Oooooh a bird! I'll chase it! And now - - Wheeeee! Down into the MUD! And - - - repeat the whole lot! - - - - - And - - - repeat! - - And now I'll come into the house, shall I?
Yes - - through the kitchen, on the windowsill, into the dining room, round and round the carpet - -let's look in the office shall I? Oh yes, onto the desk - - some interesting papers here, I'll walk right across them - - and on the keyboard, yes - - and finally - - into the lounge, across the carpet, across the coffee table and onto the windowsill for a little snooze - - ahhhh blissssss."
We have a layer of mud. Everywhere. Inside and out. If by any chance you need any for your living-room, you have only to ask.
posted by Daphne at 6:22 pm
2 Comments:
Oh, gosh, I do feel for you! We had a similar situation when this house was being put right after what the do-it-yourself freak we bought it from had done to it .. but at least we had no good carpets at that point!
As to the free mud gift, awfully kind, but no thanks. We have enough of our own, what with two greyhounds who like to belt back in from our own mud patch at 40 mph, triumphant and full of an inexplicable joy at having relieved themselves there, rather than wait for their walk.
We have a long dirt trapper mat at the back door, but at that speed the mud travels all the way into the kitchen before they can brake. *Sigh*
Sorry Daphne. We live in a mudfree zone and one day - perhaps in 2012 or maybe 2013 or 2014 - your house will once again be unmuddied. Just a thought - you could stage WWI battlefield roleplays for army medics.
WORD VERIFICATION
nuristis - morbid fear of mud.
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