Spot The Difference

Sometime before Christmas, I was given an old drawers unit that was unwanted by our local community centre:

As you can see, it is tatty and grim-seventies in style, but functional. Exactly what I need, in fact, for my poetry collections and stationery; and I am extremely grateful to have it. My intention is to upcycle it in the summer i.e. give it a coat of paint.

The brown plastic drawers are miserable to look at and not conducive to making this housewife laugh, but I had a solution. The Hub bought me some gorgeous sticky back plastic: silver, glittery and textured. I confess, I like to stroke it, especially when I’m stressed. I have it on notebooks, backing a framed document signed by Queen Victoria, and now here:

I was really pleased with my temporary cheerful fix.

And then the Hub did this:

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Yes, folks, that’s right: every time I sit at my desk, I get to look at the Hub’s ‘PENiS’.

Three guesses what I’m going to do with my next roll of sticky back plastic.

 

I’ve Been April Fooled

I am typing this with my left hand, slowly and carefully.  I think I have RSI in my right arm.  It is mild at the moment but I could do some real damage if I ignore it.  I am being sensible because I don’t want to damage my Malteser arm, and because I momentarily blacked out yesterday when I used the spellchecker and saw all those red lines.  The Hub fashioned a sling so I could rest my arm.  I’m surprised he had the material so readily to hand; I suspect he intended to make a gag with it.

The car went in for an MOT this morning.  We took the dogs and walked back.  While I was faffing with leads and wet feet and cups of tea, he checked the emails.  He suddenly shouted to me from the lounge, ‘Tilly!  You’ve had a message from Viv – she says someone’s hijacked your blog.’    I ran like I was chasing an escaped Malteser, jumped over the dogs, flung away the cup I was holding, pushed the Hub off the computer chair, scoured the emails, heard a strange chortling, and found him rofling away in the corner. 

He’s mean.  And I can’t get him back because I’m rubbish at lying; and it will be after twelve when I wake him, so the statute of April Fool limitations will have expired.  Here’s a picture of him instead: