Sunday, June 03, 2007

I Need a Little Man

You know, a little elderly gent who pops in once a week and potters around doing all the things I dont get round to because he likes to keep busy. I've just come in for a resussitative cordial before going out and sweeping the plethora of cobwebs that have begun to enshroud the raked ceiling on my back verandah. I don't want to be doing this on a Sunday afternoon. A little man could do it. After cleaning all my fly screens, I know need someone on the inside to help fix them back into place and both my progeny have gone AWOL - a little man could do that.
Then after blowing all the leaves from the verandah and driveway I've discovered shards of glass and a myriad of bottle tops that had to be picked up by hand, along with the rubbish that BabyBro's dogs drag in from local building sites (they don't have a restraining collar). I don't want to do this on a Sunday - A little man could do it. ThePrincess on the other hand is contained with a specialised electric fence and collar that give her a warning beep then a zap if she tries to breach the perimeter - yep, broken this morning so I spent half an hour splicing 9 strand copper wire and cutting my fingers with a blunt wire stripping thingy - a little man could do that. The liquidamber that shades the pool so amply in summer is now allowing it's palm sized leaves to block my skimmer boxes so I have to delve into the icy water and retrieve them by hand so that the filter functions properly - a little man could do that. And finally, I have to remove the oil and mud stains left by DrummerBoy when he cleaned his motocross boots on my back verandah (why he couldn't do it on the grass I'll never know). This will involve the use of obnoxious solvents and elbow grease - a little man could definitely do that . . . he could also change the five failed light bulbs in my house (they all go at once) take the misdirected letter that was delivered last week to my neighbour, spray the weeds that are beginning to appear in the crevices of the cobblestones and take down the blasted marquee from last week's party and tidy the shed which is actually a double garage full of motorbikes and rubbish and rewire the back fence which has been demolished by a falling branch. Instead, my Sunday is spent laboring all on my todd - with the exception of three labrador supervisors of works - before I go and replenish my spartan pantry to feed the marauding hoards. By 4.00 I'll be able to relax and enjoy the fruits of my labours just an hour before it gets dark. See . . . I really do need a little man and while he's busying himself with my light chores . . . I could enjoy some retail therapy.


F. Nairb said...

Yo girly!
Santa Monica is rageing on my speakers. as it goes....yet another Aussie overnight sesation.
Savage Garden is a band I listen to

Damian said...

I logged into your blog this morning only to be met by a half-naked man.

I don't like the direction this blog is taking...

Also, change your link to my blog on your sidebar, it still points to my old MySpace blog.


Baino said...

Bri . . I don't know what you're talking about. Santa Monica? I thought it was a place. And poor old Savage Garden are no more . . .Darren Hayes got married to another bloke recently tho!

Dame: Well I went to your place at lunchtime and found you in your dressing gown . . .what's the diff! I thought he was pretty . . I like pretty young things and a cat can look at a king!

Link changed. I thought it was a secret link so I didn't update it.