The sky is grey, the wind windy and there are a lot of bad smells round here. (But no, we are not talking local politics for once.)
1. Beautiful Wimp has been rolling yet again, down on the sea shore. Granny caught him at it - on what looked like a piece of tripe only yellower. He was so indignant when she stopped him, he tried to make off with the thing. Yuk. Interesting fact that whatever nastiness is chosen for rolling on a dog always comes out smelling the same. Not of fish, not of meat, not of festering lilies - the kind that smell so much worse than weeds (myth: try leaving weeds long enough.) Just a nasty conglomeration making up the scent of festering dog. Beloved says- he would - 'He's just doing what you do when you dab on scent, trying to make himself attractive'. 'Really?' says Granny glaring at him. She never dabs on scent, she hates it; though she does admit to a secret addiction to Roger& Gallet's carnation-scented soap - once upon a lovely time they made carnation-scented bath oil too....But no, that's quite different, she will not put Roger & Gallet in the same catagory as rolled on flaps of yellow stuff that looks like tripe. SHE WILL NOT. Bloody zoologists.
1. Ancient Mercedes has been smelling increasingly of petrol. It has tended to for some time when filled up, but since being serviced - wouldn't you know - it has become not only intolerable but full time. 'Nothing serious', Beloved kept saying airily when she complained, 'the mechanic checked it, Mr H checked it, some old cars do tend to smell of petrol a bit'. But it wasn't 'just a bit.' And yesterday he had to drive it himself to the other side of the island and having come back as woozy as Granny does - she doesn't know what long-term effects breathing in petrol fumes has, but it certainly leaves you feeling funny in the short term - he is now taking her seriously. Car is going into the garage tomorrow; a new gasket is likely, according to Mr Handsome from Blackburn; it will cost you, he says. It would be done today only it's yet another holiday - Canaries' Day - as irritating as the rest, stopping everything dead as it does. According to Mr H - again - his grandkids have been looking delightful going off to school in full local dress the last few days, along with all the other school children. Granny, having seen some of them, admits they look delightful, but she does wish her car could be done today, just the same. She's not keen on driving Beloved's truck, even if it is better than getting a hangover from petrol.
3. Water. This is the worst smell; by far the worst. For weeks the water from the taps in this house has been smelling more and more like the water left in flower vases (the festering weeds) among other things. Like old ponds, stagnant drains, like something out of those horror stories which start with rotten smells in old houses, or better still out of Fungus the Bogeyman. F the B would love it - come to think of it he'd love The Beautiful Wimp just now too. Granny and Beloved don't love it. Having a shower under such water is not a pleasure; it's graveyard stuff, like being deluged with the bottom of a ditch. They wondered if the culprit was their aljibe - water tank; if there was some dead animal lurking therein. Mr Handsome opened it up, but claims to have found nothing. His theory is that it's to do with all the digging up of pipes down the road, the relaying of pipes for the new houses opposite, needing many workmen, machines, and many tiresome blockings of their quick way into the town. It's been going on for weeks, but has at last come to an end; the street is now new tarmac from end to end. Unless this is like Britain where road companies don't talk to utility companies and new tarmac or no new tarmac, roads can be dug up regardless, the pipes should settle down; water flowing through them will cease in due course to bring with it reeking detritus of one kind or another. Time will tell if Mr H is right. Meantime it's just as well that paying guests are not invited here in the summer. How would you explain the risks of taking a bath? Even expensive shower gel doesn't kill the smell.
Since, if anything, it makes the smell worse, saving water by limiting showers and baths is not just a virtue at the moment, it's Granny's strategy of choice. Despite Beloved having assured her that getting under or into one or other doesn't turn her into a mate more desirable to F the B than to him. What a lovely man he is; when not being a zoologist anyway.
Like a strip wash, anyone? Be her guest.