It has recently come to Sir William's attention that Brian has, apparently unwittingly, introduced an unwelcome innovation to The Little House on the Patio. Some weeks ago, while I was in Crete and therefore unable to protest, Brian decided that the Little House should be furnished with a removable door which could be installed at night to prevent the pollution of the above by any marauding nocturnal wild beasts - or insanely jealous neighbourhood moggy. So far so anal (I had found pushing the front of the house up against the fence a perfectly adequate protective measure) however, said door was duly engineered and carefully put in
position each night to be removed the following morning. On weekend mornings, however, removal can sometimes be a little delayed as happened just yesterday while Brian, William and I were enjoying the precious and increasingly infrequent sun on The Bench (see
Darling Buds, themerchantstale.com). The temperature in the (now) unventilated Little House mounted unnoticed until there was a muffled implosion followed the a nerve-jangling clatter
as the little door of the Little House was catapulted onto the patio. After he'd regained his composure - and his perch - William dealt Brian "The Look" which, on this occasion, plainly said (here please imagine the dulcet tones of Charlie Croker aka Michael Caine) "You've only gone and blown the bloody door off!!".
William and I retreated to the kitchen to partake of our respective medications (Happy Pills for me, steroids for him) leaving Brian to ponder this unfortunate flaw in his control system. I suppose he'd be drilling ventilation holes next, but for the fear of infiltration by a passing earwig.
position each night to be removed the following morning. On weekend mornings, however, removal can sometimes be a little delayed as happened just yesterday while Brian, William and I were enjoying the precious and increasingly infrequent sun on The Bench (see Darling Buds, themerchantstale.com). The temperature in the (now) unventilated Little House mounted unnoticed until there was a muffled implosion followed the a nerve-jangling clatter
as the little door of the Little House was catapulted onto the patio. After he'd regained his composure - and his perch - William dealt Brian "The Look" which, on this occasion, plainly said (here please imagine the dulcet tones of Charlie Croker aka Michael Caine) "You've only gone and blown the bloody door off!!". William and I retreated to the kitchen to partake of our respective medications (Happy Pills for me, steroids for him) leaving Brian to ponder this unfortunate flaw in his control system. I suppose he'd be drilling ventilation holes next, but for the fear of infiltration by a passing earwig.
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