Honestly, such is my life that nothing remotely interesting happens for weeks and then I have two ‘incidents’ in the space of as many hours.
First our garden was taken over by enormous fire-breathing devils pigs and then my sports bra savagely attacked me and held me hostage.
Seriously, I almost had to go to the neighbour for help – and I don’t mean with the pigs!
Now, about those pigs. They were huge black monsters with red eyes and steam coming out of their nostrils! And they were in OUR garden.
Well okay they were a bit black, with quite a lot of pink – actually they were more pink than black and their eyes were just small and piggy (and impossible to tell what colour they were).
But they were in our garden and they were breathing steam. Though I suspect that had something to do with the fact that it was freezing out there even though it’s only September!!!
Anyway, I was in the kitchen hunting coffee when I heard voices down the side of the house. I knew the toxic little weeds, aka the local village children,* were back at school so I immediately went to investigate.
As I got to the front door I saw someone come running out from down the side of the house. Ha! Caught in the act, I thought. I was just about to fling the door open and start yelling when there was an almighty squeal and a ‘thing’ flew across the lawn.
At first I thought it was a dog because my caffeine deprived brain was utterly incapable of interpreting a four-legged creature, somewhere between the size of a cat and a horse, as being anything else. A pig was the last thing I expected to see.
If I’d been in a field in the middle of nowhere, maybe. But this was in our garden, in a village, in civilisation for heaven’s sake. Well okay, in Yorkshire. But that’s almost civilisation, right?
Needless to say, I decided against opening the door and doing the yelling thing so I watched the scene unfold from the safety of the front hall.
That was when I noticed that there wasn’t just one pig, but three. And they were running wild up and down our road. There was only one thing for it.
Hurry up and help the poor guy who was frantically trying to round them up get the camera. By the time I found it, changed the batteries and got outside the pigs were quietly grazing (do pigs graze?) in a nearby cul-de-sac.
Not long after that they were on the rampage again and back in our garden. I managed to snatch a quick cell phone pic of one as he went screaming across the front lawn.
By this time everyone in the street had ventured out to watch the drama. Even the curtain-twitcher across the street was standing in her open doorway putting paid to the rumours that she was actually… no, never mind.
As exciting as it was watching three pigs being aimlessly chased up and down the street my need for caffeine got the better of me and I returned to the relative peace and quiet of the house.
Three coffees and a couple of articles later, I decided it was time for a bit of training. That’s when the second ‘incident’ happened.
Now I’ve never been a big fan of those pull over the head sports bras and now I know why. They are pure elasticated evil.
Anyway, I have one and today I decided to wear it. I managed to get my head and arms into the right holes and began to pull it down my back when disaster struck. It ate my dreads.
Seriously, the elastane demon rolled itself up and my dreadlocks were so entangled that I couldn’t pull the bra down at the back. I tugged and pulled at it for what seemed like ages and then realised I had only three options.
I could cut the bra, cut my dreadlocks or go to the neighbour and ask her nicely to untangle me.
Cutting the dreadies was definitely not going to happen so that left me with cutting the bra or braving the curtain twitchers – and possibly the pigs.
They’d been quiet for a while so I was assuming they’d been safely rounded up and herded back to wherever they escaped from, but I couldn’t be sure.
What if they were lying in wait at the corner of the house? What if… Yeah right, I’m standing there with my shoulder blades almost touching each other and my bra pushing my ‘assets’ down to my belly button and I’m using rampaging pigs as an excuse not to venture outside.
Cut the bra then, I guess. Luckily every one of the six pairs of scissors we have in this house had gone into hiding, because it was during the search for these elusive objects that another solution came to me.
I might not be able to get into the bra but could I maybe get out of it? Yes, of course I could. Now why didn’t I think of that earlier?
Well, I got out of it in one piece, tied up the dreads and succeeded in getting into it without further incident.
I wonder what tomorrow will bring? And, no! There aren’t any photos of the sports bra incident.
*Only some of the local village children fall into the category of toxic little weeds (and will henceforth be known as Tweeds for the sake of brevity). Of course, the others are perfect angels. I have to make that clear lest I be sued for disparaging the poor little mites.