Smell of defeat


I don’t know. I just don’t know. We’ve had no more small furries in traps but does the sitting room now carry the faintest whisper of dead mouse? This is a super soaraway pain in the jax if so. There are many bookshelves, two sofas and piles of DVDs to pull apart in search of the less-than-glittering prize. Oh arsebiscuits.

The reason for the obsession/fury – apart from little poohy footprints on foodstuffs – is one that I swore I wouldn’t mention. That we are in the process of interviewing for a new flatmate. It’s been tricky enough to cope with mousetraps under the kitchen cabinets, but if the main room now stinks like a charnel house (or a charnel house that’s just been sprayed with Febreze), then I might as well start gutting fish in the bathroom and boiling dogs for glue.

Having strangers come and look your living space, and you, with an appraising air is very draining. Love me! I’m not weird! But are you? Gawd. But we still managed to sit down for a nice chicken dinner and the latest episode of Red Riding last night. Hooked, addicted and appalled, I am. Crikey. And an afterthought: If I had to choose between Maxine Peake and Lesley Sharp, I’d do a Paddy Considine and have both too.


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