7 July:
~‘Muttlet is Innocent : Free the One Toothed Terrier!’~
Bad news, dearest diary. Had a wee bit of a drama on our hands concerning our beloved Muttlet, who, somewhat unfortunately, broke his curfew by climbing to the top of the village clock & bell tower. Bless bim, he only did it to avoid the wasps for he hates them wholeheartedly. That said, it is such a blessing that he has given up thwacking them as he spent a good part of last summer with his two front paws bandaged up. The smell of antiseptic lingered for weeks and his nibbling habit exacerbated due to excessive boredom. At one point he attempted to chomp through his tin bath which only served to make his gums sore. As usual I digress, apologies…
At the top of the tower he had an attack of acrophobia, howling loudly enough that the locals began to gather on The Green. What a commotion! Such hullabaloo! Anyway, Fireman Billy Bucket (everyone calls him Sweet William due to his love of confectionery) attempted to get him safely down but he was having none of it. Every time Billy got a little closer, Muttlet moved a little nearer to the edge. Before we knew it it was getting dark, and, lit by the glow from a delightful Buck Moon, all the villagers had retreated apart from the local vagrant, Odourful John. There I was, alone on the village green, armed with just a sleeping sack and a simple torchlight. Fortunately, my husband rushed me down a thermos of gin and I settled down to sing Muttlet a lullaby. Albeit he didn't really like that and began to howl again, this time loudly enough that the vagabond threatened me with a dirty shovel from the cemetery. I decided it was best if I rested my vocals, which, if I'm honest, are still suffering from all that yodelling in France.
The following morning it all went terribly wrong. *Muttlet was arrested and denied bail. He didn't even get to say goodbye to Chumley whom had been off snuffling pig nuts. Which reminds me, we have had a complaint from the council about the mass of destruction he is leaving behind; threatened with a fine of ten shillings. As if we haven't got enough to worry about. Stress level in overdrive.
14 July:
In order to rest my mind a little, I spent Saturday morning painting ‘spinning leaves’ with a group of amateur artists. Afterwards, a number of us enjoyed a hearty luncheon over at ‘Le Pépin de Citron’ ~‘The Lemon Pip’~ a vegetarian/vegan bistro whose proprietor is no other than the locally renowned, Verbena LeMon. Whilst there it struck me that now she has opened up in this not too distant town, we possibly need to up our game.
~
Had been busying myself dusting the library bookshelves when I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of fluffty-tufts floating in like tumbleweed from under the door. Surrounding my feet they attempted entrapment. I am not going to be intimidated by someone's obvious spellcasting and know full well there are funny goings-on in this village. Indeed I think someone is on to me. Stepping over them, I opened the door to the washroom in order to locate a broom, only to find my husband sitting there, seated upon a milking stool. He appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in something and, as I moved a little closer, I could see that he was cleaning out his jelly button with a cotton bud! Fluff balls were all over his lederhosen which grated terribly as I had only just recently had it laundered. “Oh, it's you!” I exclaimed. ‘Tell me you plan to clean up all this mess!” He simply turned his head and smiled, ”A professional model keeps to a good grooming pattern, my love.” I think he's rising a little above his station since becoming famous. I preferred him when he was just a simple, eccentric laboratorist.
21 July:
Went to see Claire Voyant, the fortune forecaster. She talked about someone close to me who was contemplating a dramatic change, a change which would also affect me and those close to me. That night as I wrestled with sleep, my mind went into overdrive until my brain finally concluded that my husband was planning to leave me. So, that's when I decided that the only plan of action was to become a peeper.
Not quite sure if I have mentioned this before, but my husband’s laboratory is set up in our former cellar, located below the kitchen. Careful to choose a time when he was out, I set up the hand drill and made little ‘peep holes’ all over the kitchen floor. These were to be concealed by a floor covering. A number of them are monoholes, others are duo, and I may yet improve on them by adding nose and mouth holes too. I'm not too sure though, as I do not wish to make a complete and utter mess of the floor. Either way, I can still lay myself down and peep comfortably, managing to spot wherever in the room my husband is and what he is up to. Occasionally, he might glance upwards, as if he can sense something, but usually he is just far too engrossed in whatever it is he is doing. We'll have to see. I cannot see any obvious change in him if I'm honest, maybe I have it all wrong.
28 July:
~The Daydream Catcher~
Word on the breeze is that The Daydream Catcher is making his way towards the village. This means that any folk with an inclination to daydream have to batten down the hatches and go underground until he passes through. The stealing of daydreams is illegal, for it renders the victim temporarily void of emotion and any artistic fancy until they can bounce back to normal. The villainous swine I speak of has no name but is known to be a trillionaire, trading the most wonderful daydreams for golden coins, in bed with the affluent folk whom have little concern for anything but self gratification. I guess one could say that The Daydream Catcher is their middleman who accommodates their desires. Let me give you an example: Imagine yourself as a daydreamer, there you are, lazing in a meadow on a glorious summer's day, the bees are humming and the grasshoppers are rubbing away at their parts. The poppies and cornflowers are resplendent and you have a picnic of pink lemonade and cucumber sandwiches. You lay back, your senses enter overdrive, tantalised by the most pleasantly pungent, sweetest of smells as your mind drifts off, making its way towards some kind of neo-nirvana. Well, a person drawn to this daydream would be so because they are simply unable to enjoy the experience in the way that you just did. Instead, their mind would offer them this…
Meadow - I could build many houses on this; folk would pay a FORTUNE for the setting.
Bees - The darn buggers would sting me but I could make lots of money selling bespoke honey.
Scent - I could create a range of high-end fragrances, marketing them in Paris, Rome, Vienna, London, New York and Japan.
Landscape Art - I can commission paintings by world renowned artists, auctioning them off as masterpieces in the world's most prestigious galleries…
So you see, dear reader, how these people lack the ability to relax, to revel in the beauty around them. They are unable to be present in a naturally precious moment. Perhaps one might pity them if it were not the fact that they purchase the daydreams of others, selfishly using them as their own.
~
Cheerio for now. Should you get the opportunity, might you rest upon a mossy stump for a while to ponder upon the earwigs that live in my dahlias. Does a hierarchy exist amongst them? Are some of them grandparents? Are some of them villains? What do you think?
*For more information regarding the detainment of little Muttlet, please contact his agent, Violetta Stockbridge.
Mrs WH
