Bob a Job Week

I was never in the Scouts. Well, I wasn't a boy for a start, but you know what I mean. I was in the Girls' Brigade. They had hats like Thunderbird hats. I didn't realise this at the time as I was distracted by the scratchiness of the fabric on my delicate forehead, but looking back, the hats we wore were definitely Thunderbird hats. Except when you were in the Explorer section. When they were like flying saucers. But when you're 6 years old, the only thing you worry about re:hats is their frisbee potential. And Explorer hats made GREAT frisbees.

Anyway, this week Andy is on holiday and we have many 'jobs' to keep us busy. Decorating, for example. There is only one room in our house that we haven't touched since we moved in nearly 5 years ago and that is the smallest bedroom a.k.a Andy's study or the 'technohub'. It hasn't been decorated mainly because when we moved in it became instant home to 5 book cases and about 3,000 books (I kid you not!) and once they were in there it seemed like an awful lot of effort to hoik them all out again and redecorate.

However, the time has come to tackle the technohub. Heather has been summoned to the Edinburgh Festival to do some guiding type work. She doesn't get paid, but she gets free accommodation and networking and it means we can dump 3,000 books in her bedroom without worrying about where she is going to sleep. Andy has spent all yesterday and two hours this morning moving stuff out of the room and stripping off the wallpaper.

'Do you need any help?' I shout up periodically.
'No, I'm fine!' Andy shouts down. He's up there with a bucket of water, a sponge and scraper. He's happy.

So I'm letting him get on with it.

It's a surprisingly big room when it's empty. Big enough to swing at least 3 cats. The plan is to move 2 of the bookshelves to the alcoves in our bedroom, (which are currently empty), move the desk that is currently in the conservatory upstairs to go with the desk that is still in the technohub, put one of the bookshelves downstairs in the conservatory, keep two bookshelves in the technohub and leave one wall free of shelving thereby maintaining the air of space that currently pervades its four walls.

'I think we'll have to re-paper the walls,' I say. 'They are a bit too bumpy just to paint.'
'I could use really thick paint,' says Andy.
'I don't think so,' I say.
'Really, really, really, REALLY thick paint,' says Andy.
'No,' I say sternly.
'Okay,' says Andy.

Meanwhile, inspired by our recent visit to River Cottage HQ, I am venturing into the world of home-made yeast. Oh yes. Apparently, you don't need to buy yeast with which to make your bread. You can grow your own. Yeast, like love, is all around. We are surrounded by yeast. Actually, thinking about it is making me itch so suffice to say I am making my own yeast (in a pot, in a POT!) and so far it is going to plan.

This is leading onto my second job for the day which is creating the web page for the Much Malarkey Manor kitchen. So by the end of the day there should be a description of my adventure in yeast making posted there.

And my third job of the day, also River Cottage inspired, is to make beetroot houmous and flat bread. I have the required ingredients - home grown beetroot, a jar of tahini which has been languishing, unopened, in the back of the cupboard for Lord knows how long, and unfortunately a bulb of garlic.

I say unfortunately because my great-great-great-great-uncle Vladimir was a vampire and whilst the genetic legacy has been very helpful in the creation of my children's book character Limonquill the Hampire (a cross between a hampster and a vampire), it has also left me with a distaste for garlic. Even now my nose is recoiling in horror.

I know garlic is supposed to be good for you. I know it has antiseptic properties and is good for the circulation and blood and for fending off all manner of unpleasant bugs and germs. But have you smelt the stuff???

Bleuch!

However, since nearly all recipes these days require the crushing of a garlic clove, (including the beetroot houmous) I feel I need to get to grips with my natural urge to vomit when faced with the scent of this noxious little bulb. So I've got a box of face masks, some industrial strength rubber gloves and with all the windows open and a good dose of patchouli oil in the incense burner I think I might be okay.

And my fourth job today is to tidy out the kitchen cupboards. They have become full to bursting with accumulated crockery and gadgets and I have to slam them quite hard now to get them to stay shut. I managed to off-load a spare set of kitchen scales on Chris and Leane the other day after Chris carelessly broke their set. (At least, that's what Leane said - Baby Bun Grandchild, I'd shut your ears now. Listen to some Mozart. Or Chopin. The piano concertos. Very soothing. And remember, in the words of Philip Larkin 'They f**k you up, your Mum and Dad.' Just ignore them. It was only a set of kitchen scales.) But whilst seeking the aforesaid scales I noticed how cluttered things are. I mean, how many mugs does one actually need?

So I think my boot fayre collection needs starting today. Which will entail another visit to the loft.

And what with the massive back garden clear out we did yesterday, and the planting out of new plants in the pots and the moving of the chilli peppers into the greenhouse to help them spice up a bit, it's all systems go here at the Manor.

The Devil popped in for a visit last night. He'd heard a rumour of idle hands.

'Not here, mate!' we said, seeing him off with a flea in his ear and a clove of garlic up his left nostril. 'Not here!'