Dancing with Mr Wilf

My reputation in the local village is one of barely concealed eccentricity. Something confirmed to me only yesterday by the slightly quirked brow of a neighbour followed by a resigned shaking of the head as she scuttled past my window to the post box.

Allow me to explain…..

The recent warm weather has allowed me to throw open wide the windows of my little house to welcome in those warm and playful summer breezes which seek out and clear even the most stygian corners of a room. However, it also allows in some of the more unpleasant wee beasties that inhabit the foliage clinging to the exterior of my house. I have found the odd snail sojourning on my windowsill, a wandering earwig which seemed much put out when expelled and some of those fragile looking long legged spiders with bodies no bigger than a grain of rice, one of these having taken up permanent residence behind the dresser. We call her Geraldine.

I have no particular objections to any of the aforementioned beasties but what does annoy and infuriate me are the number of flies which toil endlessly round in circles in the upper air space of my sitting room. Their very presence is bad enough when I am upright and vaguely coherent but quite alarming to one who is given to sitting down upon completion of her daily chores and promptly nodding off with her mouth open.

So, I was to be found yesterday leaping round the sitting room, white tea towel in hand, swatting frantically at anything that moved, looking wild eyed and not a little demonic. Behind me bounced, as ever, the faithful Mr Wilf who just looked rather pleased.

Daisy took no part in our routine. The doyenne of the dentastick is going through a ‘Beulah, peel me a grape’ phase at the moment and simply could not be prevailed upon to leave the roomy comfort of MOH’s armchair for a turn around the room.

Why anything airborne considers it wise to remain in the same room as a batty, swatting woman being pursued by a crazed and portly hound is beyond me, although it seems we rarely, if ever, manage to hit anything. But they will keep coming back! Perhaps it is, after all, an unwitting testimony to the strength of our performance and, due to this repeat demand, we find ourselves able to offer a number of spontaneous matinee performances several times a day.

As I twirl my tea towel with the practiced air of one who is no stranger to the stage, my nativity angel given at the age of five whilst dressed in an Isle of Wight tea towel was considered something of a tour de force, the be-whiskered and scruffy face of Mr Wilf, pink tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth, eye balls on stalks due to the very great emotion with which he imbues each and every one of our performances, can just be seen clearing the height of the windowsill. Hence, the slightly startled, if resigned, look on my neighbour’s face.

We may not be Fred and Ginger but I like to think we still cut a fairly mean rug!

By the way, Geraldine is on notice as her work ethic leaves a lot to be desired and she is clearly not pulling her weight here!

Bright Blessings
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