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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Oh, the Nest'O'Love still goes strong. We've got new next door neighbours, who apparently scream and screech at each other all hours of the night time (but mysteriously don't leave bruises, contrary to our aural evidence - we met the lady one of the two this evening, and there was ne'er a bruise to be seen. Very disappointing). We fantastically got a new bookshelf from our landlords, which means that He Who Only...'s books on war and my books on eating disorders can now sit proudly side by side on a shelf rather than being piled up and undignified on the floor.

But. Disaster, ladies and gents.

I can only say this in capital letters and an incredibly high pitched voice, so those of you with sensitive hearing should turn the volume right down, right now.

WE'VE GOT MOTHER FUCKING MICE.




And not just the cute, black and white hand drawn types. The real freaking deal. The very ones that make you want to stand on a chair and scream until your neck melts and your boyfriend's ears fall off.

Although, I must clarify: I've not actually seen any mouse with mine own eyes. I think if that happened, mine own eyes would burst out of my skull with the pure horror of it all, and He Who Only... would have to do one of those marvellous Flintoff diving catches where his lovely cricket whites get all mucky.

Yes. But. Back to the mice.

Beg pardon?

Mother fucking mice.

The first one was spotted perched a-top the bread bin, winking cheekily at He Who Only..., who decided to name him "Jingo", thinking that this would win me around to not having flying hysterics and dying right then and there. And, actually, it did work, but only for one night. I've not been able to step foot into the kitchen since then, and when He Who Only... goes to work in the morning and leaves me here on my own, I am forced to stomp about the house making as much noise and vibration as possible so the little plague carrying FUCKERS don't spring out at me and eat my nose as I stand screaming.

I've called the landlords. I'm sure it'll be fine.

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