Wet Paint.

A small sample of chaos.

It is chaos in Mog Towers. The lad is painting the kitchen a lovely shade of olive green and everything that is usually in the kitchen has been stuffed in carefully selected leftover spaces in the living room. The overflow from the living room has flown into the study and the CDs in the study that should be in the attic are leaning in an ominous fashion towards the floor in the hall.  Food production has been halted except for the provision of pizza and breakfast cereal and the dirty dishes are currently in a basin on the living room floor being sniffed at by you know who. There is a cheese grater in the basin so I'm hoping that you know who doesn't get too carried away with his sniffs. We don't have time to go to the vet for nose reconstruction.

Nose. So far unharmed by cheesegrater.

I'm lurching between two emotions, three if you include the guilt induced by being too feeble to help out. I'm incredibly grateful to live with a chap who volunteers to paint things but at the same time I'm overwhelmed by all the disruption and have a sneaky temptation to run away and not come home till it is all over and the paint tins are stored upside down ( creates a seal and keeps the paint fresh ) in the shed. As it is, I'll stay on the sofa, knit a sock and make cups of tea on demand.

The gift of tadpoles.

In other news - I  performed a daring feat of lifesaving. For once the cat versus woodmouse tale had a happy ending. Cat was unimpressed, mouse was released unharmed in the woods.  We also received a pot of tadpoles last week from a chum. There are only boy frogs in our pond and every year they sing hopefully with no joyous reply. With any luck this new batch will turn out to be girls who can swell the throng..

Saved, put in a jar and forced to read George Orwell.