Wettest

there can not be any rain left in the whole world

it all fell on my house this afternoon

Image by Viviane Sassan

I’m trying to concentrate on designing a book about bees. My many distraction strategies mainly involve visiting the kitchen. 

While making lunch I turned on the radio and got engrossed in a programme about statistics manipulation, I took the radio back upstairs to my busy bee work place. On the way my fingers slipped the dial a notch onto a local community station where two schoolgirls were talking and giggling as though only to each other while looking at a computer and trying to work out the pricing structure of a festival on the Isle of Wight, it was great.  

Last time I found this station I was riveted by two presenters trying to do a programme about mental health issues, they had two interviewees (nurses) trying to tell us about support available in our area – but the information was lost due to the presenter's escalating hysterics over the fact that one woman was called Kirsty the other  Kusty it was the best radio I’d heard all year.  




I signed up to receive a bi-weekly fortune-telling email from Miranda July

this one arrived today

Good job with how you handled everything last night. This proves, once and for all, you are the right person to be you.
good luck,
Miranda

I feel relieved

Wetter

We've had a lot of rain lately. 

I'm listening to radio news: the military have arrived in Somerset to rescue the people of Muchelney who have been stuck in floods for 4 weeks. The reporter is is telling us that the water level has dropped a bit but on the way down the things that were floating on the water have got stuck to the trees and  are now very smelly, he is speaking to a lady called Reverend Twitty about this.

Wet Wet Wet

Image 1953 Peter Stackpole

Harsh loud hail waking me at night    rainy monotony during the day   cold weather coming

Space Lady day today: we sit opposite each other at the dining table and polish arcane silverware, she tells me complicated stories while Cellar Man fusses in the kitchen – long ago, to reduce frivolous water consumption, he removed one of the tap tops, today he  has removed the other one so water can only be obtained by means of a monkey wrench.

My charity shop unknittings have yielded about a jumperful of wool, all of it slightly different shades of cream, they make each other look dirty so I have been saving my used teabags to dye the skeins.  Some has turned a beautiful golden colour but the larger part of it looks like old meat. I have re-dyed the old meat wool with aubergine colour and it is now divine.

In Other News

image by Edward Gorey who’s pen names included Ogdred Weary, Raddory Gewe, Regera Dowdy, D. Awd­rey-Gore, E.G. Deadworry, Waredo Dyrge, Deary Rewdgo, Dewda Yorger, and Dogear Wryde. Writer Wim Tigges responded, “God reward ye!”


Turns out that I'm not just a conceptual-house-pet, for today I have sold two of my bird skull etchings.

This has been celebrated by the boiling up a pot of black-eyed beans

Job Titles

On Tuesday mornings I visit an elderly couple: I arrive, we exchange a little light banter, I don’t see them again for the duration of my visit.

There is actually nothing for me to do in this large detached house, it is completely neat and dust-free. 

Last week as I was leaving, I mentioned their tidiness and she said Oh we don’t want our mess to get in the way of your work, which puzzled me as I imagined myself to be their cleaner.

Today, for two hours, I walking around, up and down the stairs, plugging and unplugging the hoover, opening and closing doors and I suddenly saw myself clearly; less hairy than a cat, less needy than a dog, less trouble than guests but nevertheless a living thing, moving around in their big big house. 

Can’t decide whether to think of myself as a part-time pet or a performance artist.




A few days ago I attended a talk at the Wilderness Society given by an 'explorer',  a young man with romantic-but-ill-researched notions of crossing deserts.

Women NEVER call themselves explorers.

Except Dora

Radio Days

Today has been a bust, one of those wading-through-treacle days where nothing turns out well -  background mood supplied by torrential rain.

I have taken refuge in the radio.

There was someone talking about Google self-driving cars and the thorny issue of ethical driving decisions: whether to swerve to avoid an animal, which animals are more swerveworthy than others  and what to do when faced with the choice of crashing into a bus or ploughing down pedestrians. 

There is apparently a surreal European initiative called the Sartre project, in which a convoy of self-drive cars follow a man driving a lorry.

If you're not in the UK, the piece is  written down here,  the radio show is here.

THINGS WE DON’T UNDERSTAND AND DEFINITELY ARE NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT

title of a performance by Miranda July

Also on the radio: news that Brokeback Mountain has become an opera, illustrated with a section where the men sing to each other in that operaticky mad-talking-in-funny-voices way.  The next time I need to say a difficult thing to someone I will definitely do it in the operatic style.


image from Algae Opera

Not Knitting

I want to knit a thing but wool’s really expensive so I haunt charity shops lookingout for actual wool woolies that I can unknit and reknit.  I find them and get them home and like them as they are so I’ve ended up with a pile of ready knitted things and a lot of washing to do.

On my way back from the print studio there was a lone open shop in the Sunday morning quiet - a charity shop. I went in and the assistant followed me excitedly round the shop keeping up a running commentary.

It’s been so dead, you’re only the third in since I opened and that was hours ago, I haven’t taken a penny yet do you think it’ll rain all day? I've got the insurance coming tomorrow to look at my roof which is leaking but if it’s going to be torrential today then I’m really stuck aren’t I? Nice shoes.

He was really really close and put me off my jumper-touching, I backed towards the ‘entertainment’ section and picked up a Motown Chartbuster, gave the guy his first sale then came home and got my record player out - it’s been  a happy afternoon singing along with the Temptations.

reasons to be cheerful that my house is bloody freezing

1. I have a lot of jumpers that need wearing

2. The irises that I put in a vase 10 days ago are still looking fresh (frozen?)

3.   ... ???

Felt Pods

I did this!


Up with the lark this morning to the print room. A piece of grey felt that has been lying outside with rusting things on it now looks a bit like nicely foxed paper so I printed it with one of my etching plates.

Wrapping-up a Room

Just before Christmas a sad thing happened to our friend, so that sad thing also happened to the rest of us – but a bit less.

We have been trying to make things better for her. Part of that involves a Big Clear Out in her home  - one room in particular, I got a call for help to redecorate this red red room:

I bought some rolls of brown wrapping paper to paper the walls with I think it’ll look great in there

Ok do you need anything – wallpaper paste?

No I’ve got loads of glue sticks.

We crayoned the glue sticks over the walls and stuck on the stripey brown paper it was like wrapping a parcel from the inside.

and when I looked at what we were doing I thought this does look great, it looks a bit like leather – vegetarian leather. 

Working silently for the first hour then my friend said

These glue sticks are really excellent - last time I used honey which wasn’t nearly as successful.

Brown bag sofa from here

Futile?

Gaargh, I just fell into a bank trap:

On depositing a cheque yesterday the cashier said

I see that you still use our 'dull people' account when you could move to our 'shiny special person' account?

I was dull and hungover so I said OK

You have to be advised she said I'll make you an appointment for tomorrow

I was dull and hungover so I said OK


This morning was spent wrestling a man trying to kill me with bank products



from the futility closet

Oliver Herford opened his Christmas cards in July.

When other people’s friends have gone away for the summer ... it certainly is gratifying and exciting to be cheerily greeted by everyone you know.

I don't do Christmas cards anymore, nor do most of my friends - but on reading this I'm a bit sorry

but not much

Would've, Should've, Could've

Beili Liu - The Mending Project 

I shouldn’t drink wine anymore – it hurts too much, but I was talking so much last night that I forgot about the not drinking thing and today my head has been full of sharp pointy things.

I should’ve spent today writing applications or at least scrubbed a floor or chased dust off the tv screen but I just stared at things until someone came to rescue me with a cup of tea.

There is a fox yelping outside my window, I've turned off the lights and am standing close to the window to try and see him but my breath fogs the pane. I’ve been holding my breath for ….

No Pets Please ...

I tell Lola about the dog woman

Lola says 

all animals are trouble even the little ones…

I got given two fish right but then I had to go away and so did my flatmates so I had to put the fish in a bag and put the fish tank on my back and carry them over the other side of town to my friend and I told her she had to use old water for the tank it has to be two days old or the tap water kills them but the water wasn’t old enough and the fish died and she was so sorry that when I came back she bought me two fish but one was bigger than the other and he bullied the little one and I called my mother who told me to separate them but while I was on the phone I watched the little one die he just went over on his side like that while I was watching …

Stuffed

 

our need for consolation is insatiable - Stig Dagerman

first I visited the woman-who-can't-fold-things, for her I folded a sofaload of clean clothing.

then I took a dog for a walk, both the owners work full time.

alfie lives in a kitchen that is ten thousand times too small for him in  a full-to-bursting flat made from the edge of a bigger house, furniture escaping from rooms and cats climbing out of windows  -  we had our walk and then I wrestled him back into his cell - I have become embroiled in a hostage situation.

image: set for Addams Family

Wild Life

I work by a window that overlooks the garden. Today it appears to be full of bits of plastic, I go out and inspect the remains of a fox party - a bag of bright blue hairy old bread brought in for a pillow fight. Notice that alliums I planted last year are coming up and some of them are going to be gigantic but there is a bald patch where I planted the bulbs which promised to grow into vivid blue pompoms - I’m blaming the squirrel.

Back in the house watched Maurice-the-needy-cat slinking around the bready plastic mess. Wish I had water pistol.

Wax Print

Callooh! Callay! the owners of the Val Doonican house returned and, finding it unburgled, I was rewarded with a length of African wax printed cotton - one I can eat should I get hungry.

Saag Paneer, Beer and Felt

Cooked up beet greens with spinach and put some ricotta on top, as I was eating it the man texted to tell me that he was eating saag paneer in India which is also spinach and sortofcheese.

Still grooming that old slab of grey felt . Some orange spots have appeared but the nails are rusting surprisingly slowly - how is it that when I don’t want a nail to rust it practically dissolves in front of my eyes?

Spilt beer on the living room rug which is made of red wool –  am I glad I didn’t get that hipster cowhide one instead.

Plant Protection

 

The Val Doonican house was too disturbing after I dissolved through the neighbour’s walls last week so I went back home to resume the fight with my own burglars.

I took  my paintings to a place that said they wanted paintings to hang up but the guy there didn’t like them,  I started leaving but just before I had my coat on properly I said to the guy, ‘I make photographs too’ and  showed him my photographs on my phone and he said ‘I like those, let’s have them’.

My friends are returning to the Val Doonican house soon so I went there with bread and cake and took my rotting macaroni cheese out of their fridge.

Today I received a gift of purple sprouting broccoli – too pretty to eat I have placed it in a vase on the table.

Rusting

It's been raining all day, the radio is full of people crying - I might drown.

Thrilled with the banana wrap that I made last weekend I want to colour another piece of this lovely felty wool. The coffee shop down the road leaves out bags of used grounds for anyone who wants it (cushion stuffing?).

I soaked my fabric in old coffee grounds overnight - the result is disappointingly off-grey. I have now lain the sad thing outside and covered it with old nails we shall see if this never-ending rain can rust some colour onto it.

Quote of the Day

“No good opera plot can be sensible, for people do not sing when they are feeling sensible.”  W.H. Auden

Silver-tongued

Space Lady was wearing clothes today and an entire room had been made visible. I took a broom and swept the ceiling then we both sat down. A  small beige plastic telly on a mountain of beta tapes showed a silent rerun of Heartbeat. I cleaned silver while Space Lady kept up a running commentary. The wideness of the pickle forks and the smallness of the cake forks provoked pictures in my head. The Man-in-the-cellar was out stealing wood.

Burglars vs Neighbours

My friends have gone on holiday and I am guarding their house - any burglars will have to fight me before making off with the Val Doonican record collection. This is a relief from having to be at my own house fighting burglars wanting to steal the submarine propeller that I foolishly told the world about last weekend.

The novelty of someone else's home - how long it takes to find a bottle opener/saucepan/spoon and of course I fingered all their lovely things - occupied me for the first couple of days but as I got settled in I became increasingly aware of the closeness of the neighbours; initially I just noticed the tantrums and door slams but then I could hear sneezes, conversations, door clicks ever more clearly.

Last night I went to bed and sleep and woke with a start and ran to the kitchen sure that I must've left the oven on because I smelt burning but I hadn't and then back to bed I smelt that smell even stronger as though the walls had dissolved and I had actually moved in with the people next door.

Banana Art

On Friday I went to the depot where manufacturers bring excess materials/mistakes/by-products. Here one can fill a large shopping trolley with knicker elastic, bits of string, misprinted maps, sheet-sized pieces of felt and rubber body parts. On payment of 10 groats one can also take these things home.

I will make the sitting-in bit of a garden chair with the knicker elastic – pink and blue if you’re asking.  The bits of string are too short to be very useful but I used them to tie a blanket-sized piece of felt into a concertina-y tube then boiled it and dyed it yellow. It came out of the boiler looking a bit weedy – like it had been weed on - so I twisted it further and baked it in the oven like a strudel until it had burnt patches all over. I love this thing that looks like an enormous ripening banana skin and smells like a croissant, I will wear it round my neck like a gigantic Elizabethan ruff and dogs will follow me down the street. 

I just googled 'banana art' - had no idea it was actually a 'thing'

Penis Envy

Today I attended a gathering for people who are artists but are not actually producing any work.  It is styled after an AA meeting: We introduce ourselves  ‘I am Lulu and I haven’t produced any work since …’ then we are asked to share some personal information with the group.

Today we have to declare the object we consider to be the weirdest thing in our possession. This is tough: one does not want to appear to be too odd, not odd enough, nor to be a show-off -  I judged badly and cited my submarine propeller then was immediately jealous when a girl in crimson lipstick brought up her collection of unusual penis postcards, swiftly followed by someone with a collection of penis bones, one of which she gave to Neil Gaiman as a present.

Overheard

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I went to Paris last week and my neighbour was supposed to come in and feed the cats but the key didn’t work so the poor thing had to post the bits of chicken through the letterbox every day which was really hard because she was a vegetarian.

Leave Space Here

Today Space Lady booked me to work for her, she is wearing her giant romper suit and gravity boots which is a bad sign. We navigated her crowded house with difficulty, trying to decide where to clear space so that she could have a visitor and as many as two people could sit. There was the usual failure of nerve - it was decided that I should spend the rest of the session listening to the Goon Show with her instead.

Space Lady has a large house and it is impossible to get through the door of most of the rooms. There was a room full of dead fridges and microwaves which I cleared last year, but this drew attention to the bay window which is peeling off the front of the house and the window panes which are zigzagged with lightening cracks stuck over with electrical tape.

Space Lady has a husband who has chosen to live in the cellar.

The Cake of Mild Embarrassment

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I made my first ever Christmas cake two weeks ago, it is mainly marzipan with a sliver of fruit cake running through the middle of it, keeping to tradition there is a coating of crispy lemon icing round the outside.  The cake is not out on display, I'm afraid that people will laugh at it, so it’s hidden under foil in my fridge  -  if you’d like some please say

Poetry

 

I love it when I get the special poetic spam, this is a favourite:

 

The Pink Mouth Turbo Tube sleeve combines the popular mouth orifice with the latest fleshlight texture - the Turbo Tube. Fortunately, with today's news we don't lose screen real estate, the smaller, bite-sized egos instead of the pressure being all on the right side. Take you car to best garage in the county and arrange to have one of the plane. One worm changes the wallpaper on affected devices to a photo of a plane crash.

I love the idea of a bite-sized ego, I think I have one of those - one that is easily nibbled away at.

Image 'Logan' by Oli Macavoy

Cakewalk of Shame

Last week I did the 'halfway outfit test'  this involves trying on the 'test' dress. If it won't quite zip up, it means that less than half my clothes currently fit me,  last week the dress actually laughed at me and refused to get past my waist. 

The night after the frock humiliation, my dreams mingled the cake/body angst together -  I visited Claridges for afternoon tea. The waiter arrived and fastened the cakes directly onto my body, I left for a job interview wearing a meringue on one breast, a cupcake on the other and jangling as I walked in a skirt of chocolate fingers.

Women in Clothes

Earlier this year I came across Sheila Heti and, intrigued by her 'women in clothes' project,  I filled out the survey that informs the project, asking women to respond to questions about how they think about clothes, and include photographs or diagrams if possible. I came across my answers today and was filled by nostalgia by the two responses below.
 
Q. Do you remember the first time you were conscious of what you were wearing? Can you decribe this moment and what it was about?

A. I had never considered what I looked like or been interested in what I was wearing, I lived in hand-me-downs and jumble-sale clothing, my hair was cut by an aunt. When I was seven years old my father married a very stylish lady who took me on a train to London to shop for some new outfits, including two sleeveless, rock 'n' roll-neck nylon shift dresses covered in psychedelic paisley shapes (we were in the 'swinging sixties').  She then took me to a hairdresser called Giovanni and instructed him to give me an ‘elfin style’ cut, this turned out to involve a heavy fringe and sideburns. The sideburns showcased my ears which are attached to my head in the same manner that handles are attached to a mug. At this time I also sported a luxuriant monobrow, the boys on the school bus would ask to see if the brow actually encircled my head completely.

Q. Can you recall a time when you have dressed a particular way to calm yourself or gain a sense of control over a situation that scared you?

A. I have a sticky-out stiff blue skirt, it’s a bit cartoony and makes me feel light-hearted, if I wear it with my rigid leather biker jacket it becomes my 'armour outfit’, I feel like Lucy Van Pelt (from the Peanuts) in this outfit.

(This no longer works - I am currently trialling other 'armour outfits')

The Era Of Fun

My sister’s children are in a state of hysteria about the massive shopathon event that is Christmas in the UK, I appear to lack enthusiasm so the six-year-old hopped around the kitchen and explained the relevance of Jesus to his dim auntie ...

Jesus started Christmas

and Christmas started fun  ... see?

Folding Lady

My lack of ability as a cleaning lady has selected out a very particular sort of clientele, such as elderly people who do their own cleaning (see previous post) but want someone to come by once a week to check that they are still alive then help them turn on the computer and reach down a jar of pickles.

A woman with aspergers syndrome texts me once every couple of months. A large portion of her tiny flat is taken up with enormous recycling bins that separate glass, cardboard and plastic. When they are full she starts piling boxes and tins on top of the bins. At the point that she fears getting trapped underneath an avalanche she sends a text in a state of panic about the situation. Cardboard boxes in need of flattening occupy the sofa and the bathroom contains a large bucket full of cardboard loo roll inners. Somehow she can cope with her other rubbish but not this ... this needy waste. The other issue here are the clothes racks which tower like pylons behind the sofa and in front of the tv, piled with clean laundry, it just needs folding - and folding is something she can’t do.

Theories of Relativity: i

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My current career as a domestic cleaner is a family joke, visiting my house is a bit like entering a crime scene. I'm myopic so don’t notice dust and can't see details on far away places like the floor.  Sometimes (when a visitor is imminent) I do a speedy swab across the decks, merely making things worse, I am effectively smearing dirt and consolidating several piles of jumble  which only serves to draw attention to our sorry state.

It has long been apparent that any housework done in my own home is an unrewarding task, within hours the house reverts to it's default state of messiness. This is in stark contrast to the home of an elderly couple where I visit once a week for vacuuming duties, their home is identically neat from one week to the next - they leave exactly 12 crumbs under the dining table to check that I do actually push their Hoover around - but nothing else shifts or changes. I imagine them living in this house, gently reading the papers or a book until it is time to move to another room, drifting through the house in a manner that won’t dislodge any hair or skin flakes.

I have met  another artist who earns her living as a cleaner, we’d both like our homes to be neater but are equally ineffective at achieving this, we suggested that perhaps it would be more interesting if we did each other's housework*. The problem with this plan is that it still involves time spent doing housework, we will call the idea Art and file under ‘conceptual’.

*actually I refuse to own the housework, my house is shared with another who deserves equal opprobrium for the mess in which we find ourselves

House Music

My daily life is mostly occupied with cleaning people's homes. Pointing at and exclaiming about the things that interests me in these places might be considered impolite so instead I have taken inspiration from this verbatim poem and composed my own list of names for the places I have visited over the last six months.

House with many wind apertures

House of hairy dolls

New baby, zombie lady house

Pants on floor house

House of love and frayed carpets

Sticky wall house

House with no place for bottom or cup of tea

House of many cushions

House where big man sleeps

House for lady in bunny suit

House like grandma’s

House where man consider ending life

Party Girl

I've started rescuing poems from the pavement.


This one was mostly crossed out so I've reconstructed it and I've also given it a title:

Party Girl

Hair Extensions
Make-Up
Eyelashes
Extra pair of shoes
tights
under wear
Red earrings
gold ring
pull ups stockings
suspender belt
clutch bag
passport
pj's
wipes
toothbrush
toothpaste
change of pants
outfit
shoes
jewellery
phone charger

Out of the Dog House

This morning I dawdled along behind two small boys and eavesdropped on their plans for world domination; they were dividing the city between them, the larger boy had just claimed the bus station so the smaller boy countered with a gesture that took in the block of flats that we were walking past 

These are all mine

His friend was scornful

Don't be stupid, if you owned all that you'd have to buy LOADS of sofas

Jobs

... the next time I visited  the cat house, the cats kept out of my sight. I cleaned the living room and moved on. Glancing into the living room on my way out I noticed that a clutch of enormous turds had recently been laid on the carpet in the window bay.

Twice a week I go to a house with dogs and a little boy who calls me Harry because that is the name of his friend.

I spend an hour a week in a house where I have never seen the owner, he called me and asked if I did ironing, I said not really because I wasn't very good at it and I worried that I might do more harm than good, the man said 'What if I didn't care', then he dropped his keys off in my letter box and leaves me cash in his microwave every fortnight.

I have recently started cleaning a sexndrugsnrocknroll house. It is the sort of place where it is difficult to tell what colour the paintwork might originally have been but I'm guessing they had a lot of fun getting it this dirty. They don't want me to come very often and they're too stoned to care what I clean.  I choose something that I can complete in a session. The first week I concentrated on a glazed door between the kitchen and living room. After two hours with a scourer and some Ajax I had uncovered a very bright and shiny thing indeed, I imagined them coming home and thinking that a celestial Tardis had been installed.

Hampering Services

At the beginning of last year I stopped doing a grown-up job and became a full-time artist but that doesn't pay so well and by the end of the year I needed cash quick. I placed an advert in the fancy-house area of town and have since been deluged with pleas for my ‘Super Cleaning Services’.

Yesterday the Knick-knack House was on my rota and the cat was  standing guard in the living room doorway.

As I started dusting, the cat mewed furiously and jumped up onto the tiny ledge under the TV attempting to sit exactly where I was dusting, my dusting hand trapped under the cat’s bottom shot the animal off  and onto a card-covered side table, spraying the cards in all directions, the cat then crashed onto the mantelpiece sending all the framed photos etc., showering down to the hearth among all the tiny candles and glass pebbles that covered that surface.

I think that's what they call a job creation scheme.

Later today it's the House of Dogs ...

Velvet Bottom

My husband photographs the night sky with special cameras.   

To get away from people and city lights he drives for an hour, to Velvet Bottom.

Last night when he returned  from a visit to Velvet Bottom I asked how it went:

Well, it was ok to begin with but then four young guys in a car turned up hunting rabbits with torches, they thought I was the police then they decided I wasn’t so they came up and asked if I’d seen any police, then they went off. Half an hour later another two men turned up – to hunt with hawks so I had to chat to them, then they went away. Then the police turned up.

Christmas Rapping

I am browsing bias binding in Fabricland * . A young woman enters in a state of excitement, I hear her say to her friend behind the counter

There’s a crowd outside watching wrappers

?

Another customer standing at the counter has heard differently she says:

Watching a ruckus - what’s the ruckus about?

The first girl says:

No - rappers – like singing

The friend behind the counter becomes slightly interested:

Are they famous rappers – or just community rappers?

(for verisimiliutude do not pronounce the ‘t’ in community when you say that sentence in your head))

The first girl says that  she doesn’t recognize them so they’re probably just 'community rappers'.

I need to know what 'community rappers' look like so I abandon the bindings and go outside.

This is Mr Woodnote, he has more videos on Youtube


*Fabricland is my favourite Bristol shop, decorated with shouty notices in multi-coloured text, I can always depend on seeing a bit of community improv theatre when I visit

Sandwich Night

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary, our celebration would take the form of going out to watch a movie together (we never do this).

Usually on Friday evenings the gentlemen in the neighbourhood cycle to a pub just far enough away to make them believe they’ve earned  a pint. This particular Friday was going to be special so he tried to persuade me to do the movie thing a day early:

When we get to the pub on the Friday before Christmas they bring out a plate of sandwiches - it's the only night of the year they do this! (sad, pleading face)

I remained stony in my resolve that we do the anniversary thing on the anniversary day.

He checked the calendar to make sure there’s no possibility that Sandwich Night and our anniversary will clash next year.

Placebo Pies

Waiting at a bus stop I listen to a woman wearing sparkly antlers telling her friend about a recent party hosted by a stuffy friend;

Sparkly had volunteered to supply the mince pies...

Sparkly: … so then Malcolm said he’d help me cook them ... and when he came over he had this bag of grass and we made a special one for us with a cross on it so we’d know which one it was… but then the pastry all kind of melted in the oven and the cross disappeared so we didn’t know which was ours … I took them anyway and didn’t say anything about the grass ... everyone was there and eating them and  they all seemed normal but when Malcolm turned up a couple of hours later he was pissed and I knew he’d told someone ‘cos a ripple went through the room…

…and then everyone started behaving really differently … in a good way