Dreadful Nonsense

[Please note: This post was originally supposed to be accompanied by photographic evidence. But Bobby has eaten through the wire that connects the camera to the computer.]

Strange things keep happening in my bedroom.

(And JC, before you start desperately clutching at your belt buckle and bracing yourself for rudes, please rest assured this blog entry is entirely above board and clean cut. So less of the Pollack, please. Many thanks.)

This is a wooden frog that my father brought back for me the last time he was on holiday. Nothing unusual about that: fathers around the world regularly go on holiday, and in the most appropriate and time honoured tradition, bring back to their 28 year old daughters wooden frogs for them to cherish. It's obvious, it's natural, it's a life cycle thing.

No, the strange thing is that the WOODEN FROG IS FACING THE WALL. When I lovingly placed the wooden frog by my television, I had the wooden frog facing out, across the room, so that the wooden frog could enjoy the full panorama of the room with it's wooden eyes. It could even see out the door and in to the hallway, if the door was open, and so pass it's wooden days in my room carefully watching the comings and goings. As it should.

But now, said wooden frog is facing the wall, and all is wrong with this picture.

But this, ladies, gents, Moo, is not the first time this kind of thing has happened in my bedroom.

In front of my book shelf, there are three small ceramic crows dressed as British postmen. Again, nothing strange about that. We've all seen them before. Ceramic delivery crows are as common as the day is long. However, recently the middle cerarmic delivery crow has taken to FACING THE BOOKS and not looking out across the room, as it's other two ceramic chums are.

THIS IS NOT THE WAY I LEFT THEM.

I used to have a line of plastic toys lined up across the top of my television. Taking centre place was a plastic Mr Happy, with his arms stretched out wide, inviting anyone who fancied it to lean in for a hug. It was a lovely Mr Happy, and I enjoyed glancing up at him while watching scary programmes, because he provided a comfort. But Mr Happy was the first toy to start turning around and staring at the wall for no reason, and when his back was turned, Mr Happy did not look invitingly like he was asking for a hug in the most endearing way. No, Mr Happy looked like he was being crucified.

Mr Happy doesn't sit on my television any more.

Why do my perfectly normal, not at all unusual, bedroom decorative accessories keep turning around and facing the wall? Is it a scary Blair Witch thing? I think you'll agree it is. Does anyone have the phone number of a priest willing to come to my bedroom and exorcise the demons?

This entry was posted on 16 March 2005 at 11:27 am. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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