Invaders

Can I just say that I am pipped off by this person who keeps invading my blog with comments in foreign writing? When the first one appeared a couple of months ago, I thought, 'Ooh, my blog has reached the eastern hemisphere - how exotic!' And then, because I am stupidly naive and curious about these things, I clicked on the comment to see if there was a translation and got connected to a selection of highly dubious and unsavoury web sites which are certainly NOT the kind of thing I want tainting the doors of Much Malarkey Manor. Especially not now I am a granny.

So please, if you see a foreign body comment, DO NOT click on it. And I apologise that this person, or persons has chosen to despoil the decent atmosphere on this blog (albeit with the occasional rant thrown in just to keep everyone on their toes), and if they are reading this, just sod off, will you? I know how to delete the comments now, so hopefully will get to them quickly before they upset the sensibilities of you, my dear readers. But I wish I could do something more permanent about blocking such comments. Like chopping someone's fingers off.

Anyway, on to more cheerful stuff. Nothing cheerful about school, I'm afraid. My little pal, Grace, popped in to see me at lunchtime today. She said, 'Can't you be my teacher, instead of Mrs White? I don't like Mrs White. She don't half go on.'

I said, 'I think Mrs White is just doing her job. Us teachers always go on a bit. You should hear me when I get started.'
Grace said, 'It's those stupid lesson objectives. She goes on and on about the lesson objective and all I'm thinking is, shut up about the lesson objective.'

I think, poor Grace. If only she knew that lesson objectives were an example of the cutting edge of education today. Wait until she cottons onto the latest Government directive that teachers are no longer allowed to teach, but must be learning faciltators instead.

Anyway, I got home after another rubbish day and went to commune with the chickens awhile.

'So how's the new grand-daughter?' said Miggins, after she'd gobbled up copious amounts of the curly kale her Gran aka my Mum had dropped around for their gourmet delight yesterday.

'She is lovely,' I said. Because she is.
'All pink and smooth and squeaky?' said Miggins.
'Yes,' I said.
'I had one of those once,' said Miggins. 'Trouble is, I let go of the string and it floated up in the air and got stuck in a tree.'

'That's a balloon,' I said.
'Isn't that what we're talking about?' said Miggins.
'No,' I said. 'And I'm going inside to cook some tea now. I'm not sure I can cope with the surreal ramblings of chickens today.'

The garden is starting to look a bit lively now. Buds on the magnolia, buds on the apple tree. Bluebells in the front garden. A single asparagus tip in the asparagus bed. Lettuce popping up in the greenhouse, which I really must get into the habit of watering regularly (the lettuce, not the greenhouse; that would be stupid.) Especially as we've had a few sunny days recently. Lovely!

There is also a daffodil growing in the front lawn. I don't remember planting a daffodil there. Andy assures me we did.
'Just one?' I said.
'More than one,' said Andy. 'Only it seems only one has decided to grow.'
'Daffodils, eh?' I said. 'Huh!'

So there we are. Some invaders I like. Like Spring. And some I don't. Like smutty foreign blog commentators.

And I wasn't keen on those Space Invaders either. You know, those weird shaped crisps of the late Seventies. Especially the salt 'n' vinegar flavour that could skin the roof of your mouth in ten seconds flat.