Money Matters and So Does Poop

Just as I had got used to not being in paid employment, paid employment is coming to find me. I've already picked up a monthly tutoring session starting in September - and then yesterday my friend Jane called and asked if I could do something about her neck using massage.

'What have you done to it?' I asked.
'Oh, I don't know,' she said. 'But it's very stiff and knotty and it's becoming a permanent annoyance.'
'And how long has it been like it?' I asked.
'About a month,' she replied.

So I got out my massage couch, my almond oil and the lavender burner, Jane duly arrived and I pummelled and pressed her back, shoulders and neck until everything eased up.

'You should do this professionally,' she said as I was putting on the kettle for a cuppa. 'Now, how much do I owe you?'
'Don't be silly,' I said. 'I'm not going to charge you. You're one of my best friends.'
'Well, I'm going to pay you regardless,' she said.
'Okay, a fiver then,' I said.

Jane placed £20 on the table.
'No, no,' I said, because although that would have been the general going rate, you don't charge friends full whack when they insist on paying.

'I insist,' said Jane.
'So do I,' said I.

So we arm wrestled and settled on a tenner.
'I'm coming back for more,' she said. 'That was really good.'

Okay, I thought, as I was pondering this gradual turn of events that is happening in my life. Perhaps I'm supposed to do a little bit of tutoring and a little bit of massage therapy to support my writing. I can do that. It seems like the right thing to do.

We'd had an offer on the house earlier in the day. I didn't think the couple who came to view liked the place as the first thing the bloke said on seeing the living room was 'this is too small.' But it seems they liked it enough to consider buying. The offer they put in was rather low; we rejected immediately, having already decided on the minimum we were prepared to accept. The couple have gone away to 'have a think.' Whatever that means.

There's another viewing lined up for this afternoon and I am trying not to jump every time the phone rings.
'I am prepared to revise the minimum amount we are willing to accept,' said Andy, as he left for work this morning.
'I'm not,' I said,' I'm hoping to start a bidding war.'

Besides, I've done a boot fayre with Andy and I am fully aware how big a discount he is willing to consider to off-load our unwanted possessions.
'Of course we'll accept an offer of one hundred of your finest English pounds for our charming 3 bed semi,' I could hear him saying.
The man, as they say, needs watching...

Anyway, my other issue vis a vis house selling is the pooping of the cats. Because the cats are indoor cats, they have indoor toilet facilities. Their indoor toilet facilities are cleaned out daily, but that doesn't help when one of them decides to have a poop. Pandora isn't too bad; she's a first thing in the morning gal, so a quick dip with the pooper scooper sorts out her offering. Tybalt is more random but his poops aren't too niffy.

It's Madame Phoebe who causes me the biggest poop issues. Madame Phoebe is reliable with her pooping habits in that she will choose to poop either a) as we are about to eat a meal b) two minutes after we have started eating a meal c) ten minutes after a guest has arrived in the house d) three minutes after I've cleaned out the litter tray (or whilst I am cleaning out the litter tray if she can get away with it) and now e) 5 minutes before someone is due to view the house.

So yesterday I had to do a litter-tray-clean-out-and-air-freshen in three minutes flat with Phoebe sitting in the kitchen doorway looking at me a bit too smugly,I thought.

And as I don't like commercial aerosol air freshners because they just announce the fact that pooping has just occurred somewhere in the house by some creature or another, I have come up with a series of alternative aroma-poopa-disguisers. These are 1) a mug of freshly made hot coffee 2) a tin of beeswax furniture polish 3) an oil burner with lavender or rosemary or 4) constant baking of bread and cakes.

And keeping the conservatory windows open at all times.

Yesterday, our HIP arrived, in the form of a fairly thick A4 book. I had a bit of read. Very boring. Thin plot and no characterisation at all. And to think we paid £450+VAT for this pile of poo, I thought.

But then it's true, isn't it? That where there's muck, there's brass.

Today's blog was brought to you by 'Tying it in Tenuously, For All Your Tenous Blogging Needs.'
The managing director would like to apologise for the poor quality of this publication only she's bloomin' tired at the moment and really wants to sleep for a week and then some. Clever witticisms are the least of her current worries...