Sucker in a three piece...

Why is it that you forget things as the season changes?

It was a misty Autumn morning walk with the woofers today, and for the first time in many weeks, I donned the wellies.  Tucking my trousers into my socks (cropped trousers have a habit of riding up) I stepped out into the long grass of the meadow and headed out for a walk.  

And then I remembered.

When you tuck your short trousers into your long socks, it is the cue for a battle, with whoever has the stronger grip being the outright winner.  Now you'd think that up against a cheap pair of old socks from the supermarket my trouser waistband would be the victor in this particular battle.  But what I hadn't considered is that since I have been avoiding the foods which give me migraines (almost five months now) I have lost almost two stone in weight.  Add into the mix that I have a self-inflicted embargo of no new clothes or shoes this year, and you'll understand where I'm going here.  

Halfway around the meadow, the trousers started to get dragged down by the super-strength socks, and it was only some furious tugging which stopped my looking like Danny Devito's Penguin.  By the time I got home, the trousers had been released from their sock confinement, and the socks, with no purpose now left to them were both huddled in the toes of my wellies.  All in all, not the best start to walking in the colder weather.

Daughter number one and Arthur Daley have today moved house.  Last night, the husband and I were at the old flat.  Him with a screwdriver and manhandling a sofa through a window (don't ask) and me with my Marigolds and cleaning products.

'Have you got a Hoover?'  I asked daughter number one.  She raised her eyebrows and nodded towards a tall cupboard.  'It's in there.  Best of luck'.

Lifting it out of the cupboard, I was reminded of a similar Hoover which I had as a child.  It ran on a couple of AA batteries and picked up nothing despite making enough noise to challenge a Boeing 747 in a 'Who Can Make The Most Noise' competition.  This was much the same, and even having unblocked every orifice, it still had about as much suction as an asthmatic aardvark.

But I couldn't really say anything.

I'd bought her this Hoover for Christmas and I felt slightly ashamed that it was so useless, so I carried on vacuuming the flat (basically, on my hands and knees picking up bits of fluff and putting them in my jeans pocket as the Hoover had downed all of its tools with the battery finally running out half way through).

'We need to get them a housewarming present', I said to the husband on the way home as we sat in a lay by having a cheeky kebab (don't judge me, I was desperate and reckoned that the grease in the kebab would neatly de-fluff my lungs).

I feel a trip to John Lewis is on the cards.

To be more specific, the vacuum section...