Day Six

Day Six:

Email from a friend tells me her recalcitrant husband refuses to wash his hands, even when he’s been out shopping, so she follows him around, wiping  every touched surface  with disinfectant and a damp cloth.

If he were my spouse, I’d be following him round with a blunt instrument.

Her only revenge, being confined with him to small quarters,  is to eat a combination of broccoli , Brussels sprouts and cauliflower,  then and stand as close as possible to him when she breaks wind. 

Brussels sprouts contain cyanide (which is why they're bitter) I won't tell her this, it may give her ideas.

The gossip in my neck of the woods is that cauliflower is only to be had at 5 times its normal price.    I’m assuming it’s gold plated not brass-ica. 

It will lack cheese sauce as there’s not even mousetrap (my usual purchase) in our supermarket, which has rather saddened the mice who are now considering coming in from the fields during these cold mornings.

The matter of wind (well, it IS March) has highlighted one small compensation of being locked up, or down.

 I can eat as much garlic, onions and cabbage as I please, with no fear of exterminating anyone with the gaseous results.  Except the mice of course.

On that subject, I used the last of the bathroom deodorising spray yesterday but a dear neighbour agreed to get some and a pack of toilet rolls from her local corner shop which, being fairly remote, hasn’t yet been pillaged by the ravening hoards.

It is only a matter of time before raiding parties try further afield in their insatiable lust for consumer goods.

My friend, for whom English is not a first language came back not with an aerosol to dispel odours, but one of those Spray n' Wipe bottles and a Chux cloth instead of toilet rolls.

She passed them to me with such happiness and satisfaction, 'No need for paper, all in one cleaner, spray and wipe bottom.'

I have a feeling someone’s garage may be full of toilet tissue and if only I knew where they lived I could effect a midnight sortie to liberate some.

I’ve got to the stage where I'm eyeing Christmas wrapping paper.

 I still have no deodorising spray to keep the wharepaku sweet but I read online that striking a match can eliminate smells but is it safe when methane is inflammable?  

Were I 40 years younger and in a slightly different context,  the idea of igniting Mr Muscle  might appeal but I do not wish to be rushed to hospital with a barbecued fundament, so perhaps I’ll just turn on the extractor fan.