Ice Cream

We all scream for ice cream but I also scream for mice because I hate them.

fucking petrified

Here is me cowering in the dark after spotting a mouse in my bedroom. I am not in that bedroom anymore. I hate mice.



Tidied the pantry because I found widdle mousey turds in a few places a while back. Bloody hell, they will get in anywhere. Not sure how, because everytime I find a hole somewhere, I seal it up with wire, and I’m all out of places to seal. Husband says there is too much food available to them in our house. I agree, but that is not what they are eating, stupid bastards. Do they eat the crumbs and scraps on the floor in the kitchen? No. Do they eat the spilt pasta in the pantry? No. They prefer to dine on plastic and old seeds, by chewing a hole in a bag that is stacked behind and underneath a bunch of other heavy stuff. Omg. Anyhoo, will see how long this lasts.


At least this way, I will be able to check for more widdle turds every day against the stark white lino faux tile, rather than the plethora of cardboard crap and hastily thrown away toys that was there before. I have also put in two traps, even though nearly 5yo is adamamt that the mice need to live and make a house. My retort, of course, is that they shall not live in my house.


Mr Waah Waah

So glad he’s not asking for pets yet.



We made it home from our bus driving holiday, and then we all went our separate ways, thank goodness! 4yo asked us to play with him and he received a round of resounding ‘no’s, poor monkey.
I cleared my head a little by running the push mower over our backyard; Husband did a bit of office work, 8-in-1-week-yo snipped some prickles down near the hideout; 6yo slunk up to the lego room against all admonishment that everyone should go outside, and 4yo played with his duplo downstairs, to be admired by all and sundry passing through the kitchen.
We had left the kitchen in a pigsty, but we literally ran out of time before we drove away after filling the dishwasher already. I was worried about mice because, well, mice! But there has been no evidence in the kitchen, or anywhere, really. But they must have been dissatisfied with the crumbs in the kitchen, because they climbed up in one of the bathrooms and shat on the hand towel, just to show me their disapproval,  little fuckers. So, now I have to put traps around again, and hopefully snap some necks to discourage them from running amok in my domain. Once again, I cannot ascertain where they came from, and why they didn’t just eat the stuff left in the kitchen instead of despoiling my haber-fucking-dashery.
But otherwise, it’s great to be home.