You may recall that I quite like to mow the lawn, I find it a bit therapeutic. Except I don't mow when the grass is wet. And for the past few weeks all it has done is rain and rain and rain and rain. Except the rain stopped 2.5 days ago. So this morning I thought that the grass would be dry enough to mow.
It wasn't.......
As soon as I started I knew I might be in a bit of trouble. I thought I might come across worms. Slimy squirmy evil worms that might be basking at the base of the wet grass. I was right there were some worms, but the job needed doing so as I mowed I watched were I stepped and jumped around any worms the mower had disturbed or cut in half.
Trying to mow a tropical rainforest is bad enough, but when it's wet and worms are involved it is not so great. I wasn't finding any therapy in mowing today. Whenever I mow I have a routine, the routine is this:
Mow the back yard
Mow the side yard
Mow the pool yard
Mow the front yard
Simple and it normally works quite well.
This is what happened today.........
I mowed the back yard and it looked great. I had to empty the catcher approximately every couple of metres, but it was looking nice again. I was motivated to keep on mowing. Then I started on the side yard. That's when it all turned bad.
Suddenly I heard an almighty CRUNCH
I've heard crunches before when mowing, and crunches sometimes scare me. Mostly because of the unexpected crunch sound. When I've heard crunches in the past it is mostly due to hitting a rock or a leftover Brown bone or a stray clothes peg. But this crunch was different. This was a mammoth crunch of mass proportions.
Less than a second after the mammoth crunch of mass proportions a projectile shot out from under the mower. This had never happened before. The projectile landed near my foot. Not on my foot thankfully because I probably would have passed out from grossness. At first I thought I must have run over a Brown toy, maybe a tennis ball or squeaky toy. It took me exactly 1.19 seconds to realise that this wasn't the case. I jumped back from the projectile and squealed like a girl. I turned off the mower and squealed again and said something similar to "what the hell is that?"
You see at the same time I was mowing my side yard my neighbour was also mowing his back yard. Actually it wasn't my neighbour, but his dad. At the time I squealed and swore he came over to see what was going on. He had one look and said something similar to "you've just run over a cane toad love, looks like you did a good job on him to". This is when I gagged and nearly barfed. Upon closer inspection from quite a distance I could see that indeed I did run over and mangle a cane toad. A very dead cane toad at that.
After doing a bit of a prance around being completely grossed out I wondered what to do next. Clearly I couldn't leave a dead mangled cane toad in my side yard. My neighbours dad was having a good old chuckle at me doing my prance. I wasn't laughing though. Thankfully he came to my aid. I got my shovel and he scooped it up and dug it into my garden for me. I asked him where it came from he said they love to live in long grass. They dig a hole and sit there doing their cane toad thing.
He then handed me back my shovel and said "keep it handy incase you run over another one, if there is one there are probably more". SHIT! That was it. I was done with mowing my side yard. I continued to mow the pool yard and the front yard. But the side yard didn't get finished. So I now need someone to mow the rest of my side yard because there is no way in hell I'm going anywhere near it!
And I'm pretty sure from now on I am not going to enjoy mowing so much anymore.....
Brown Dog
Big and Brown
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Confession About Brown
I have a confession to make. Brown hasn't aways been my Brown. He has always been half of my Brown but until 1.2 years ago he was only half mine. You see 10.7 years ago when I bought my house the first time I bought it with someone else. His name is The Person Who Used to Live Here.
When The Person Who Used to Live Here and I decided to buy a house we only had 4 criteria about what the house needed to have:
It needed to be on the North Side
It needed to be close to the bus and train
It needed to have an inground pool
and most importantly......
It needed to be fully fenced
Because The Person Who Used to Live Here and I had an agreement. It was a simple agreement. An agreement that would bring much joy and frustration to our lives. The agreement was this:
I was allowed to get a Cat
He was allowed to get a Dog, and of course having a dog meant having fences.
When we decided to buy a house we looked and looked and looked. In total we looked at three houses. It was the third house that we bought. It fit all of the criteria that the house needed to have. It was great. I still think my house is great, especially since I bought it a second time 6 months ago and now it is all mine.
I have always grown up with cats never dogs. So having a cat was natural to me. Having a dog was a bit interesting. You already know the story of Brown and Orange and how they came into my life and how they became conspiracy theorists to plot against me at any available opportunity.
There was one part of the agreement that was actually not part of the agreement. You see The Person Who Used to Live Here kept a secret from me. He didn't like cats and didn't want to own half a cat. In the end that turned out to be a good thing for me and Orange.
On the other hand I quite liked Brown a lot and considered him to be half mine. Or at least 49% mine and 51% his. So I owned a whole Orange and half a Brown. I was quite happy with that arrangement. Don't get me wrong, The Person Who Used to Live Here didn't hate Orange.... he tolerated her. They just never shared the love.
It was an unwritten and unspoken rule that if The Person Who Used to Live Here and I ever split and decided to go our separate ways then I would get Orange and he would get Brown. But that was never going to happen, we of course were never going to split.
Until we did.......
It had probably been coming for a while. Correction, it had been coming for a while. So when it finally happened it was mostly mutual, but that didn't make it a whole bunch easier. Any breakup after 10 years was bound to be hard.
You see we had invested in a Boutique Brewery. It was a long time dream for both of us to own our own business, preferably a brewery. Then one day we came across the opportunity to follow that dream, and so we did. The only problem was that the brewery was 2.17 hours south of where we lived. We decided that he would move down to where the brewery was to make beer, and I would stay in our house with Brown and Orange and my job so we could still pay the bills. The plan was that I would get a job down there and the brewery would flourish and we would all live happily ever after.
That plan didn't work........
While I stayed in the house with Brown and Orange and my job The Person Who Used to Live Here was living his dream and brewing beer. Lots and lots of beer. But not quite enough beer because after 1.4 years of living apart the brewery had to shut down. There was this thing called the Global Financial Crisis that hit us really quite hard. We were looking for other investors, but no one wanted to spend money. So the brewery had to close.
And so began a 10 month legal battle over the assets and liabilities of the brewery with the other couple who also owned it. That was super tough, especially since 4 months into that legal battle The Person Who Used to Live Here and I decided to split.
During that 1.4 years of me living in the house with Orange and Brown and my job Brown relied solely on me. Except for every second or third weekend when The Person Who Used to Live Here would come home. Brown and I had become best mates. I truly loved Brown and he truly loved me.
After we split The Person Who Used to Live Here and I still lived together in the house for 4 months. That was a whole bunch of a different kind of interesting, and I knew it was not a good thing. I knew that eventually one or both of us would have to move out and quite probably sell the house. That made me sad. What made me most sad was knowing that eventually I would lose Brown forever.
Except that didn't happen........
After 4 months The Person Who Used to Live Here decided to move in with someone else. I began to realise that my days with Brown were numbered. I spent lots and lots and lots of time with Brown then. We went for walks and played t-bone and beer and dumb-bell and sausage every night when I came home from work. I was preparing to say good-bye.
Except I didn't need to.......
You see The Person Who Used to Live Here was moving in with someone who already had 2 dogs. And you can only legally have 2 dogs. When he asked me if I would like to keep Brown I was at first a bit confused. Brown was 51% his, why would he leave him behind? I thought back to all the problems we'd had with Brown.... hating thunder storms and escaping the yard when he could. The cost of keeping Brown things like food and vet bills and kennels if I wanted to go away. I thought of all the Brown poops I would have to clean up.
I thought of some of the bad things but mostly I thought of all the good things about Brown. Good things like how he is always happy to see me and how he makes me smile even when I'm not feeling very smiley and how Orange would be devastated if she had no one to conspire against me with.
The good by far outweighed the bad. It took me exactly 2.17 seconds to say "of course I'll keep Brown".
That was the best decision I ever made. That and buying my house a second time so Brown and Orange could be happy and live the rest of their lives where they had grown up.
I truly love my Brown and Orange. Even though they conspire against me at every possible moment.....
When The Person Who Used to Live Here and I decided to buy a house we only had 4 criteria about what the house needed to have:
It needed to be on the North Side
It needed to be close to the bus and train
It needed to have an inground pool
and most importantly......
It needed to be fully fenced
Because The Person Who Used to Live Here and I had an agreement. It was a simple agreement. An agreement that would bring much joy and frustration to our lives. The agreement was this:
I was allowed to get a Cat
He was allowed to get a Dog, and of course having a dog meant having fences.
When we decided to buy a house we looked and looked and looked. In total we looked at three houses. It was the third house that we bought. It fit all of the criteria that the house needed to have. It was great. I still think my house is great, especially since I bought it a second time 6 months ago and now it is all mine.
I have always grown up with cats never dogs. So having a cat was natural to me. Having a dog was a bit interesting. You already know the story of Brown and Orange and how they came into my life and how they became conspiracy theorists to plot against me at any available opportunity.
There was one part of the agreement that was actually not part of the agreement. You see The Person Who Used to Live Here kept a secret from me. He didn't like cats and didn't want to own half a cat. In the end that turned out to be a good thing for me and Orange.
On the other hand I quite liked Brown a lot and considered him to be half mine. Or at least 49% mine and 51% his. So I owned a whole Orange and half a Brown. I was quite happy with that arrangement. Don't get me wrong, The Person Who Used to Live Here didn't hate Orange.... he tolerated her. They just never shared the love.
It was an unwritten and unspoken rule that if The Person Who Used to Live Here and I ever split and decided to go our separate ways then I would get Orange and he would get Brown. But that was never going to happen, we of course were never going to split.
Until we did.......
It had probably been coming for a while. Correction, it had been coming for a while. So when it finally happened it was mostly mutual, but that didn't make it a whole bunch easier. Any breakup after 10 years was bound to be hard.
You see we had invested in a Boutique Brewery. It was a long time dream for both of us to own our own business, preferably a brewery. Then one day we came across the opportunity to follow that dream, and so we did. The only problem was that the brewery was 2.17 hours south of where we lived. We decided that he would move down to where the brewery was to make beer, and I would stay in our house with Brown and Orange and my job so we could still pay the bills. The plan was that I would get a job down there and the brewery would flourish and we would all live happily ever after.
That plan didn't work........
While I stayed in the house with Brown and Orange and my job The Person Who Used to Live Here was living his dream and brewing beer. Lots and lots of beer. But not quite enough beer because after 1.4 years of living apart the brewery had to shut down. There was this thing called the Global Financial Crisis that hit us really quite hard. We were looking for other investors, but no one wanted to spend money. So the brewery had to close.
And so began a 10 month legal battle over the assets and liabilities of the brewery with the other couple who also owned it. That was super tough, especially since 4 months into that legal battle The Person Who Used to Live Here and I decided to split.
During that 1.4 years of me living in the house with Orange and Brown and my job Brown relied solely on me. Except for every second or third weekend when The Person Who Used to Live Here would come home. Brown and I had become best mates. I truly loved Brown and he truly loved me.
After we split The Person Who Used to Live Here and I still lived together in the house for 4 months. That was a whole bunch of a different kind of interesting, and I knew it was not a good thing. I knew that eventually one or both of us would have to move out and quite probably sell the house. That made me sad. What made me most sad was knowing that eventually I would lose Brown forever.
Except that didn't happen........
After 4 months The Person Who Used to Live Here decided to move in with someone else. I began to realise that my days with Brown were numbered. I spent lots and lots and lots of time with Brown then. We went for walks and played t-bone and beer and dumb-bell and sausage every night when I came home from work. I was preparing to say good-bye.
Except I didn't need to.......
You see The Person Who Used to Live Here was moving in with someone who already had 2 dogs. And you can only legally have 2 dogs. When he asked me if I would like to keep Brown I was at first a bit confused. Brown was 51% his, why would he leave him behind? I thought back to all the problems we'd had with Brown.... hating thunder storms and escaping the yard when he could. The cost of keeping Brown things like food and vet bills and kennels if I wanted to go away. I thought of all the Brown poops I would have to clean up.
I thought of some of the bad things but mostly I thought of all the good things about Brown. Good things like how he is always happy to see me and how he makes me smile even when I'm not feeling very smiley and how Orange would be devastated if she had no one to conspire against me with.
The good by far outweighed the bad. It took me exactly 2.17 seconds to say "of course I'll keep Brown".
That was the best decision I ever made. That and buying my house a second time so Brown and Orange could be happy and live the rest of their lives where they had grown up.
I truly love my Brown and Orange. Even though they conspire against me at every possible moment.....
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas 2010 - Browndeer and My Christmas Weed
This year I decided not to put up a Christmas Tree. Not that I have anything against Christmas Trees. They are pretty great.
Here's some great things about Christmas Trees:
They come in a box
They are easy to assemble, no instructions required
They come in all sorts of colours and sizes
They are pretty when all decorated
They are festive
They mostly make me happy
They attract Orange
They go back in their box for the next year
Here's some not so great things about Christmas Trees:
They come in a box, so are not real (mine anyway)
They need to be assembled, a bit weird
They come in all sorts of colours like purple and pink and blue. Christmas Trees should only ever be Green
They need to be decorated, which takes motivation and effort and time
They are festive, and I didn't feel very festive this year
They mostly make me happy, but sometimes they just remind me of things I don't want to be reminded of
They attract Orange, Orange always climbs it and knocks it over. Every year without fail
They go back in their box for next year, but they never fit the same way they did in the very beginning
...........................................
You may recall that I have a pool, which is mostly great. Except when it's to cold to swim in. This year the weather has been a little bit wrong in Brisbane. Not wrong in a bad way really, more wrong in a weird way. It's been a rather cool spring and summer so far. So the pool is still quite cool, though I have been in a few times this year and so has Brown. Brown and the pool are best mates now.
Last week I was in my pool looking at how long the grass was. In summer I need to mow every couple of weeks or the grass and weeds turn into a tropical rainforest. I like to mow. Mowing really is quite great. I find it a bit therapeutic. Except I don't mow when the grass is wet. And this year it has just rained and rained and rained and rained and rained. So I haven't had a chance to mow in 3.6 weeks.
So as I floated around my pool I admired the tropical rainforest growing in my yard. It really is quite impressive. In particular was one weed. A weed that I thought looked rather like a Christmas Tree. I had a great idea. Since I didn't assemble my Christmas Tree this year.... I would instead make my very own Christmas Weed.....
I liked my Christmas Weed. It made me feel festive. And since I was feeling festive I thought Brown might want to share in the festivities too. This is Browndeer......
And this is Browndeer signing Christmas Carols. He really got into it!
After a little while though Browndeer wasn't so sure anymore......
Merry Christmas everyone! I am now going to jump in my cool pool and admire my Christmas Weed along with Browndeer and a beer. A nice beer of course!
Here's some great things about Christmas Trees:
They come in a box
They are easy to assemble, no instructions required
They come in all sorts of colours and sizes
They are pretty when all decorated
They are festive
They mostly make me happy
They attract Orange
They go back in their box for the next year
Here's some not so great things about Christmas Trees:
They come in a box, so are not real (mine anyway)
They need to be assembled, a bit weird
They come in all sorts of colours like purple and pink and blue. Christmas Trees should only ever be Green
They need to be decorated, which takes motivation and effort and time
They are festive, and I didn't feel very festive this year
They mostly make me happy, but sometimes they just remind me of things I don't want to be reminded of
They attract Orange, Orange always climbs it and knocks it over. Every year without fail
They go back in their box for next year, but they never fit the same way they did in the very beginning
...........................................
You may recall that I have a pool, which is mostly great. Except when it's to cold to swim in. This year the weather has been a little bit wrong in Brisbane. Not wrong in a bad way really, more wrong in a weird way. It's been a rather cool spring and summer so far. So the pool is still quite cool, though I have been in a few times this year and so has Brown. Brown and the pool are best mates now.
Last week I was in my pool looking at how long the grass was. In summer I need to mow every couple of weeks or the grass and weeds turn into a tropical rainforest. I like to mow. Mowing really is quite great. I find it a bit therapeutic. Except I don't mow when the grass is wet. And this year it has just rained and rained and rained and rained and rained. So I haven't had a chance to mow in 3.6 weeks.
So as I floated around my pool I admired the tropical rainforest growing in my yard. It really is quite impressive. In particular was one weed. A weed that I thought looked rather like a Christmas Tree. I had a great idea. Since I didn't assemble my Christmas Tree this year.... I would instead make my very own Christmas Weed.....
I liked my Christmas Weed. It made me feel festive. And since I was feeling festive I thought Brown might want to share in the festivities too. This is Browndeer......
And this is Browndeer signing Christmas Carols. He really got into it!
After a little while though Browndeer wasn't so sure anymore......
Merry Christmas everyone! I am now going to jump in my cool pool and admire my Christmas Weed along with Browndeer and a beer. A nice beer of course!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
When Brown Was A Puppy vs Food Bucket: 10.5 Years Ago
When Brown was a puppy I used to keep him in the garage. I did this because it was safe for him. He wasn't fully vaccinated yet, so I didn't want him coming into contact with other dogs. At the time my garage was totally empty. Except for my push bike and some pallets and his dog bed and lots of toys. Nothing else.
Now my garage is full of lots of things. Important things like my motorbikes and work benches and camping gear and a power tool. I like power tools, they are pretty great! I only have one power tool though, a cordless drill. And I haven't actually used my cordless drill yet, but one day I will and I know it will be a good day when I do. My garage is also full of lots of crap. Crap like old batteries and old switchboards and old fishing reels and various other amounts of other crap that someone left behind when they moved out last year. One day I'll get rid of all the crap.
I didn't keep Brown in the garage for very long. Only a few weeks until he was fully vaccinated. And when I got home from work he would always come out to the big wide world and play with me. I liked playing with Brown as a puppy, I still do like to play with Brown. Sometimes he acts like he is still a puppy.
I also have a rumpus room that is attached to the garage. In the rumpus room is the laundry area and a spare toilet and some gym equipment and a beer fridge and a spare tv. When Brown was a puppy his big food bucket was also in the rumpus room. But it was okay because the rumpus room had a sliding door to block off access to the garage. I thought it was okay.
But it actually wasn't......
This is what happened.......
One day I came home from work and unlocked the garage door. Normally when I did this a very excited Brown would come bounding out and do a pee and want to play. Except that day when I opened the door there was no Brown. Instant panic. Did someone break in and steal my Brown? Did Brown somehow find a way out to the big wide world and get lost or picked up or get hit by a car?
I called out for Brown.... Brown, where are you Brown? Then I heard whimpering. There was no where in the garage to hide, so where was he? It turned out he was in the rumpus room. You see the sliding door is only hinged at the top, not the bottom. Brown had pushed through the bottom of the door but once inside the rumpus room he could not get back into the garage because the door only swings one way.
I slid the door open and a very excited Brown did a pee but didn't really want to play. There was something different about Brown. He wasn't more Brown, but he was a whole lot fatter.
Upon further investigation I discovered that he got a bit curious. He had discovered his food bucket. His food bucket that had recently been filled with puppy food. He had somehow managed to upturn the bucket and spill the food everywhere. And in doing so had eaten approximately a 1.2 weeks worth of food in one day.
His belly was so fat that I thought if I touched him he would explode. KABOOM.... Brown exploding into a million puppy bits that I would only have to clean up. Thankfully that didn't happen and I still have my Brown. That was the last day I kept Brown in the garage, and I didn't feed him for a couple of days. The amount of poop that came out of him after that was amazingly enormous.
Lesson learnt #1: Don't keep the food bucket in the same vicinity of Brown
Did I learn from this lesson? Quite clearly not.
Stay tuned for the conspiracy theory that eventuated afterwards. It also involves Orange.....
Now my garage is full of lots of things. Important things like my motorbikes and work benches and camping gear and a power tool. I like power tools, they are pretty great! I only have one power tool though, a cordless drill. And I haven't actually used my cordless drill yet, but one day I will and I know it will be a good day when I do. My garage is also full of lots of crap. Crap like old batteries and old switchboards and old fishing reels and various other amounts of other crap that someone left behind when they moved out last year. One day I'll get rid of all the crap.
I didn't keep Brown in the garage for very long. Only a few weeks until he was fully vaccinated. And when I got home from work he would always come out to the big wide world and play with me. I liked playing with Brown as a puppy, I still do like to play with Brown. Sometimes he acts like he is still a puppy.
I also have a rumpus room that is attached to the garage. In the rumpus room is the laundry area and a spare toilet and some gym equipment and a beer fridge and a spare tv. When Brown was a puppy his big food bucket was also in the rumpus room. But it was okay because the rumpus room had a sliding door to block off access to the garage. I thought it was okay.
But it actually wasn't......
This is what happened.......
One day I came home from work and unlocked the garage door. Normally when I did this a very excited Brown would come bounding out and do a pee and want to play. Except that day when I opened the door there was no Brown. Instant panic. Did someone break in and steal my Brown? Did Brown somehow find a way out to the big wide world and get lost or picked up or get hit by a car?
I called out for Brown.... Brown, where are you Brown? Then I heard whimpering. There was no where in the garage to hide, so where was he? It turned out he was in the rumpus room. You see the sliding door is only hinged at the top, not the bottom. Brown had pushed through the bottom of the door but once inside the rumpus room he could not get back into the garage because the door only swings one way.
I slid the door open and a very excited Brown did a pee but didn't really want to play. There was something different about Brown. He wasn't more Brown, but he was a whole lot fatter.
Upon further investigation I discovered that he got a bit curious. He had discovered his food bucket. His food bucket that had recently been filled with puppy food. He had somehow managed to upturn the bucket and spill the food everywhere. And in doing so had eaten approximately a 1.2 weeks worth of food in one day.
His belly was so fat that I thought if I touched him he would explode. KABOOM.... Brown exploding into a million puppy bits that I would only have to clean up. Thankfully that didn't happen and I still have my Brown. That was the last day I kept Brown in the garage, and I didn't feed him for a couple of days. The amount of poop that came out of him after that was amazingly enormous.
Lesson learnt #1: Don't keep the food bucket in the same vicinity of Brown
Did I learn from this lesson? Quite clearly not.
Stay tuned for the conspiracy theory that eventuated afterwards. It also involves Orange.....
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Brown & Orange... Not Always the Best Of Friends 6.28 Months Ago
Like all siblings, Brown and Orange have a love hate relationship. They are not always the best of friends. When they are the best of friends they conspire against me. When they aren't the best of friends they conspire against each other.
This is what happened.....
I have a front veranda. I like my front veranda, I quite like it a lot. I can sit on my front veranda and eat breakfast, or read the paper, or write my blog, or listen to music, or have a beer. Sometimes all of those things at once. Except I don't drink beer for breakfast.... usually. The best thing about my veranda though is I can grow plants.
I like plants, plants are great. Except that I generally end up killing them. I tried to grow herbs once, that didn't work out very well. So I stick to plants. I had five living plants on my veranda, and I was very pleased with myself. I even had a chilli plant which was doing rather well. I like chilli, chilli is great. Except when there is too much chilli, then it isn't so great because it hurts. Both going in and coming out.
So 6.25 months ago I came home from work and found 1 plant knocked over with dirt spread around it. I blamed Orange. I thought she had gotten into the plant to have a poop and by accident knocked it over. Bad Orange. I scooped up the plant and the dirt and put it back in its place.
6.26 months ago I came home from work and found the same plant and another one knocked over. The dirt had spread a bit further this time. I still blamed Orange. Bad Orange... no soup for you! Not that I feed Orange soup, but you get what I mean. I once again scooped up the plants and dirt and put them back in their place.
This is when I started to become a bit suspicious. There was actually no Orange poop in the dirt I was cleaning up. So could Orange really be capable of that sort of damage? Well, she is Orange after all, with evil tendencies. So yes, I still thought I should blame Orange.
Except I shouldn't have.......
You see it was actually Brown who destroyed my plants. Brown had conspired against Orange. I don't know why. Perhaps in one of their secret meetings to conspire against me Orange had refused to comply. Which was probably a good thing for me, who knows what they were conspiring next after all.
6.28 months ago I woke up to a colossal mess of mass proportions. To much for the Orange to make overnight.
This is how I know Brown was actually the culprit.....
A sleeping dog always lies. Especially when he is only pretending to sleep.
Brown was sleeping with one eye open.....
The full extent of the colossal mess of mass proportions, including a now dead chilli plant.....
Did you do this Brown?
Guilty as charged!
And the evidence to prove it!
Lesson Learnt #1: Brown and Orange don't only conspire against me, they also conspire against each other
Lesson Learnt #2: Don't suspect Orange when I have suspicions that it may have been Brown all along
Lesson Learnt #3: Even if Brown and Orange conspire against each other.... They are really only conspiring against me
This is what happened.....
I have a front veranda. I like my front veranda, I quite like it a lot. I can sit on my front veranda and eat breakfast, or read the paper, or write my blog, or listen to music, or have a beer. Sometimes all of those things at once. Except I don't drink beer for breakfast.... usually. The best thing about my veranda though is I can grow plants.
I like plants, plants are great. Except that I generally end up killing them. I tried to grow herbs once, that didn't work out very well. So I stick to plants. I had five living plants on my veranda, and I was very pleased with myself. I even had a chilli plant which was doing rather well. I like chilli, chilli is great. Except when there is too much chilli, then it isn't so great because it hurts. Both going in and coming out.
So 6.25 months ago I came home from work and found 1 plant knocked over with dirt spread around it. I blamed Orange. I thought she had gotten into the plant to have a poop and by accident knocked it over. Bad Orange. I scooped up the plant and the dirt and put it back in its place.
6.26 months ago I came home from work and found the same plant and another one knocked over. The dirt had spread a bit further this time. I still blamed Orange. Bad Orange... no soup for you! Not that I feed Orange soup, but you get what I mean. I once again scooped up the plants and dirt and put them back in their place.
This is when I started to become a bit suspicious. There was actually no Orange poop in the dirt I was cleaning up. So could Orange really be capable of that sort of damage? Well, she is Orange after all, with evil tendencies. So yes, I still thought I should blame Orange.
Except I shouldn't have.......
You see it was actually Brown who destroyed my plants. Brown had conspired against Orange. I don't know why. Perhaps in one of their secret meetings to conspire against me Orange had refused to comply. Which was probably a good thing for me, who knows what they were conspiring next after all.
6.28 months ago I woke up to a colossal mess of mass proportions. To much for the Orange to make overnight.
This is how I know Brown was actually the culprit.....
A sleeping dog always lies. Especially when he is only pretending to sleep.
Brown was sleeping with one eye open.....
The full extent of the colossal mess of mass proportions, including a now dead chilli plant.....
Did you do this Brown?
Guilty as charged!
And the evidence to prove it!
Lesson Learnt #1: Brown and Orange don't only conspire against me, they also conspire against each other
Lesson Learnt #2: Don't suspect Orange when I have suspicions that it may have been Brown all along
Lesson Learnt #3: Even if Brown and Orange conspire against each other.... They are really only conspiring against me
Monday, December 13, 2010
Brown vs Pool
Apart from a Brown Dog and an Orange Cat I also have a pool. It's in my backyard, which is much better than it being in my front yard. It's a proper in ground pool, not just a crappy blow up inflatable pool that kids sometimes have.
I like my pool, my pool is great. Except for 6 months of the year when it's to cold to swim in, then it's not so great. Then it just gobbles up money that I could spend on other things. Other things like a new fence, or a holiday, or some art, or a massage, or new shoes, or..... well just about anything really. Except I would never spend money on a worm farm, because worms scare the shit out of me. Worms are evil.
I bought my house the first time in May 2000. The second time was June 2010. When I first bought my house I knew that the pool needed to be repainted. Being new to Brisbane I thought September would be an excellent time to drain the pool and have it sand blasted and repainted.
I was wrong.......
Apparently September is the start of the wet season in a sub tropical climate. Apparently to paint a pool it must be dry. Apparently my timing was way off. The pool was drained, but then it rained. And rained and rained and rained and rained.
The rain never stopped for long enough for the pool to be dry enough to paint. That whole summer while I was sweltering in 30+ degree heat I had a pool to cool down in. At least I should have had a pool to cool down in. Instead I could only stare longingly at a 55,000 litre cement pit in my back yard. That was a very long hot summer.
By April the rain had stopped and the pool was finally dry enough to paint. I had it sand blasted and painted and tiled. That was kind of fun. Friends came over to help. We had barbeques to celebrate how much fun it would be to actually swim in the pool. I like barbeques, barbeques are great. Except when it should be a pool party and barbeque, not just a barbeque. But they would come later.
When it came time to fill the nicely new painted and tiled pool I had a win. My region of Brisbane still had free water! No charge at all to use water. Not like today when it costs approximately $2.58 every time you flush a toilet. Or a five minute shower costs approximately $24.71. Okay, I might be exaggerating very slightly, but seriously!
So I filled up the pool with a simple water hose from a simple tap. Simple. I don't quite remember how long it took, but using a mathematical equation such as euler equation second order I believe it took approximately 6.09 months. Probably not really, but that was when I was finally able to swim in my pool.
So now I have a pool that is filled with water, glorious water! Except I need chemicals, many many chemicals to keep it sparkling. This is when it became a money trap. But I had a pool to keep me cool that summer.... and a Brown Dog that needed to learn how to swim.
This is what happened......
Brown is a hunting dog. He points at things. He's wired to be used to retrieving dead things from all kinds of places, even water. Except Brown was apparently scared shit of water. He wanted nothing at all to do with the pool. The pool scared him. Big problem. He needed to be at one with the pool, incase he ever fell into the pool. I didn't want a drowned Brown Dog after all.
I had a plan, a very clever plan. At least I thought it was clever at the time.
Simple, I would use the stairs to walk into the pool, and with a bit of coaxing Brown would follow. I even had food to coax him in. The plan didn't work. He wanted nothing to do with it.
Time to instigate Plan B......
Brown was still quite light then, still a puppy...ish. Not the 35 kilo's he is today. Plan B was to pick him up and walk down the steps then gently place him in the pool and see what happens. Plan B didn't work, Brown was so squirmy that he wrangled out of my grip before I could get down the first step. In doing so he scratched my arm with a claw. It was bleeding, and wouldn't stop bleeding for approximately 4.41 minutes.
In that 4.41 minutes I came up with Plan C. Plan C was much more clever than the first Plan and Plan B combined.
Plan C went like this......
Find Brown. He was quite good at hiding, but not good enough. Give Brown a doggy treat to make him happy. Watch Brown be so happy that he rolls over onto his back and pees, all over himself. At this stage I am both laughing hysterically and a bit grossed out, I know what I need to do next. Next is pick Brown up, pee and all. A glimpse of fear fills his big brown eyes. Walk towards the pool. Throw Brown into the pool. SPLASH. Jump into the pool after Brown, an even bigger SPLASH. Hope like hell that Brown doesn't sink.
He didn't. Instinct kicked in. Brown started to swim! Except he didn't know where to swim to, so he swam to me. At that stage I carried a half swimming Brown to the pool steps. When he touched ground but was still in the water he smiled a big Brown Dog smile. A happy Brown at last!
I got out of the pool, and Brown followed. Next I had a beer.... it was good. I like beer, beer is great. Except when it's the bland tasting like cat's piss kind of beer. Then it's not so great. So with a proper beer in hand I walked back down the steps into the pool.
Much to my delight Brown followed me in! And he settled on the second step where his belly was in the water. Then he put his head into the water and began to drink. He drank mass proportions of pool water. Then he barfed. Not in the pool, he found his way out before hand thankfully.
Since that day Brown likes to cool down and have a swim in the pool on a hot summer day. He mostly stands on the second step with his belly in the pool. But sometimes he goes for a bit of a paddle.
Lessons learnt #1: Brown Dog does like to swim
Lesson learnt #2: Brown Dog likes the taste of pool water, a lot. Sometimes he still barfs, but never in the pool. He is clever enough to get out first. Because if he barfed in the pool he know's that he'd never be allowed back in
Lesson learnt #3: Never try to get an Orange Cat to follow in Brown Dog shoes.... that's another story in itself
I like my pool, my pool is great. Except for 6 months of the year when it's to cold to swim in, then it's not so great. Then it just gobbles up money that I could spend on other things. Other things like a new fence, or a holiday, or some art, or a massage, or new shoes, or..... well just about anything really. Except I would never spend money on a worm farm, because worms scare the shit out of me. Worms are evil.
I bought my house the first time in May 2000. The second time was June 2010. When I first bought my house I knew that the pool needed to be repainted. Being new to Brisbane I thought September would be an excellent time to drain the pool and have it sand blasted and repainted.
I was wrong.......
Apparently September is the start of the wet season in a sub tropical climate. Apparently to paint a pool it must be dry. Apparently my timing was way off. The pool was drained, but then it rained. And rained and rained and rained and rained.
The rain never stopped for long enough for the pool to be dry enough to paint. That whole summer while I was sweltering in 30+ degree heat I had a pool to cool down in. At least I should have had a pool to cool down in. Instead I could only stare longingly at a 55,000 litre cement pit in my back yard. That was a very long hot summer.
By April the rain had stopped and the pool was finally dry enough to paint. I had it sand blasted and painted and tiled. That was kind of fun. Friends came over to help. We had barbeques to celebrate how much fun it would be to actually swim in the pool. I like barbeques, barbeques are great. Except when it should be a pool party and barbeque, not just a barbeque. But they would come later.
When it came time to fill the nicely new painted and tiled pool I had a win. My region of Brisbane still had free water! No charge at all to use water. Not like today when it costs approximately $2.58 every time you flush a toilet. Or a five minute shower costs approximately $24.71. Okay, I might be exaggerating very slightly, but seriously!
So I filled up the pool with a simple water hose from a simple tap. Simple. I don't quite remember how long it took, but using a mathematical equation such as euler equation second order I believe it took approximately 6.09 months. Probably not really, but that was when I was finally able to swim in my pool.
So now I have a pool that is filled with water, glorious water! Except I need chemicals, many many chemicals to keep it sparkling. This is when it became a money trap. But I had a pool to keep me cool that summer.... and a Brown Dog that needed to learn how to swim.
This is what happened......
Brown is a hunting dog. He points at things. He's wired to be used to retrieving dead things from all kinds of places, even water. Except Brown was apparently scared shit of water. He wanted nothing at all to do with the pool. The pool scared him. Big problem. He needed to be at one with the pool, incase he ever fell into the pool. I didn't want a drowned Brown Dog after all.
I had a plan, a very clever plan. At least I thought it was clever at the time.
Simple, I would use the stairs to walk into the pool, and with a bit of coaxing Brown would follow. I even had food to coax him in. The plan didn't work. He wanted nothing to do with it.
Time to instigate Plan B......
Brown was still quite light then, still a puppy...ish. Not the 35 kilo's he is today. Plan B was to pick him up and walk down the steps then gently place him in the pool and see what happens. Plan B didn't work, Brown was so squirmy that he wrangled out of my grip before I could get down the first step. In doing so he scratched my arm with a claw. It was bleeding, and wouldn't stop bleeding for approximately 4.41 minutes.
In that 4.41 minutes I came up with Plan C. Plan C was much more clever than the first Plan and Plan B combined.
Plan C went like this......
Find Brown. He was quite good at hiding, but not good enough. Give Brown a doggy treat to make him happy. Watch Brown be so happy that he rolls over onto his back and pees, all over himself. At this stage I am both laughing hysterically and a bit grossed out, I know what I need to do next. Next is pick Brown up, pee and all. A glimpse of fear fills his big brown eyes. Walk towards the pool. Throw Brown into the pool. SPLASH. Jump into the pool after Brown, an even bigger SPLASH. Hope like hell that Brown doesn't sink.
He didn't. Instinct kicked in. Brown started to swim! Except he didn't know where to swim to, so he swam to me. At that stage I carried a half swimming Brown to the pool steps. When he touched ground but was still in the water he smiled a big Brown Dog smile. A happy Brown at last!
I got out of the pool, and Brown followed. Next I had a beer.... it was good. I like beer, beer is great. Except when it's the bland tasting like cat's piss kind of beer. Then it's not so great. So with a proper beer in hand I walked back down the steps into the pool.
Much to my delight Brown followed me in! And he settled on the second step where his belly was in the water. Then he put his head into the water and began to drink. He drank mass proportions of pool water. Then he barfed. Not in the pool, he found his way out before hand thankfully.
Since that day Brown likes to cool down and have a swim in the pool on a hot summer day. He mostly stands on the second step with his belly in the pool. But sometimes he goes for a bit of a paddle.
Lessons learnt #1: Brown Dog does like to swim
Lesson learnt #2: Brown Dog likes the taste of pool water, a lot. Sometimes he still barfs, but never in the pool. He is clever enough to get out first. Because if he barfed in the pool he know's that he'd never be allowed back in
Lesson learnt #3: Never try to get an Orange Cat to follow in Brown Dog shoes.... that's another story in itself
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Me vs Rain, and Those Pesky Evil Worms That Scare The Shit Out Of Me
I like rain. I quite like rain a lot. Rain is great, except when it's not so great.
Here's some great things about rain:
Rain smells nice
Rain makes everything pretty and green
Rain makes the flowers bloom
Rain washes away all the bird poop on my car
Rain fills up my water tank
Rain fills up my pool
Rain fills up the dams
Rain makes me feel like dancing, but not so much outside
Rain in the morning makes me feel like sleeping in
Rain sounds nice on the roof
Rain is much better than snow
Rain means I can wear my fancy rubber boots
Straight down rain is good
Here's some not so great things about rain:
Rain makes everything wet
Rain makes the weeds grow way to fast
Rain makes the grass grow way to fast
Rain makes it hard to spray the weeds and mow the grass
Sideways rain is bad
Rain gives me wet feet
Rain makes for bad hair days
Rain means I can't walk Brown
Rain sometimes means thunder which scares the shit out of Brown
Rain sometimes means a torrential downpour of mass proportions
Rain of torrential downpour of mass proportions floods my garage
Rain of torrential downpour of mass proportions floods my pool
But by far the very worst thing about rain:
Rain brings out those pesky evil worms that scare the shit out of me
Here's some great things about worms:
There are zero great things about worms. ZERO!
Here's some not so great things about worms:
Worms are pesky
Worms are evil
Worms are slimy
Worms jump and leap all over the place
Worms stink, especially lots of dead worms
Worms are out to get me
Worms scare the living shit out of me
Why do worms scare the living shit out of me? Because they do. Everyone I know thinks that it's quite odd that I hate worms. They try to tell me that worms are good for the soil. I don't give a shit about the soil. Maybe I would give a shit about the soil if suddenly everything started to die and there was no food to eat. But even then I would still hate worms.
I'm not scared of anything else. I can easily deal with snakes and slugs and snails and caterpillars (because they have legs) and spiders and bugs of any sort. But it's the worms.
When did I start hating worms? Probably from the time I was exactly 0.01 seconds old. I think it was an inherited trait. From who? I don't know. No one else in my family history has been shit scared of worms. I've traced it back generations, and not one person ever said they were shit scared of worms. Maybe they were just hiding it because they thought it was a bit odd?
I remember when I was 6.10 years old I had a nightmare. A nightmare of mass proportions. A nightmare so bad I still remember it now.
This is what happened in the nightmare:
There was a can of Zoodles in the cupboard. You know, the animal shaped noodles in spaghetti sauce that every Canadian kid grew up on. That and Kraft Dinner, but at that time Kraft Dinner only came in tubes, not animal shapes. That can of Zoodles somehow became open. The only animal to escape was a worm. I don't think worms were part of the Zoodle family, they aren't an animal kept on display in a zoo after all. It must have been a bit of a broken Zoodle, perhaps part of a giraffe or a hippopotamus or a penguin.
But it was the worm, and only the worm that escaped. It was pesky and evil. It had a mission, a conspiracy theory to scare the shit out of me. It slithered down the hallway and found my bedroom. It then jumped and leaped so it could reach my bedspread. It then slimed it's way up to just below my chin. I was lying on my back. Suddenly out of nowhere it produced a finger. Or maybe it was a mutant worm that had two heads. Whatever the case, it reached out and touched me on my chin.
All hell broke loose then. I yelled and screamed. Then I woke up. My parents came running to see what was the matter. I was clawing at my chin with desperation. The worm had touched me. YUCK!
Fact: Since that day I have never ever touched or stepped on a worm.
Okay, revised fact: I have never stepped on a worm knowingly, but I have never touched a worm.
I say that I have never stepped on a worm knowingly because I am still alive. Of course I have unknowingly stepped on worms, but if I knowingly ever stepped on a worm I would have died from a heart attack of shear fright.
Last year I went to a 5 day outdoor music festival. I like music festivals quite a lot. Music festivals are great, except when their not so great. What makes music festivals not so great? When it rains and rains and rains and turns the fields into a huge mud pit. Because we all know what lives in mud pits. Lots and lots of worms.
This is what happened at the 5 day outdoor music festival:
It started off really great. I was with friends having fun. I had my brand new fancy rubber boots that would protect me from any pesky evil worms. The only problem was that my rubber boots were a size to small. Why? Because I have very big feet and I couldn't find any my size. They were comfortable enough when I tried them on, but I couldn't wear thick socks in them. It didn't occur to me that after wearing them for 13 hours a day for 5 days straight that I may come across problems.
I did. Problems of mass proportions in fact. After day 2 I started developing blisters. Only small ones. By the end of day 3 small blisters became big blisters, and other small blisters developed quite rapidly. On day 4 I was wearing so many bandaids I'm pretty sure I should have owned shares in the bandaid company. At the end of day 4 I ended up in the first aid tent with ice on my blisters. By this time the fields were pure mud. I thought that I might be in trouble on day five.
I was. I woke up late, everyone else had already gone. I knew there was no way in hell that I could wear my rubber boots. But I had a plan, a very clever plan. Why didn't I think of this earlier? Because it turned out not to be a very clever plan after all.
The plan:
Instead of wearing my fancy rubber boots, I'd wear my double pluggers. Simple, I would still be mildly protected from worms and I would be having so much fun it wouldn't matter. The plan didn't work.
This is what happened:
I went to day 5 of the music festival all happy ready to have a great time. I had my double pluggers on and had no worries. Within exactly 17 seconds of walking in the mud I realised it was not going to work. Within exactly 49 seconds of walking very strangely one of my double pluggers broke. You see they kept sinking into the mud and getting stuck until finally one snapped off completely. Oh shit.
My feet were now in direct contact with worms. Millions and Billions and Trillions of worms. Ever step I took I thought about this. Squishing worms between my toes, but I couldn't see them thankfully. I tried not to think about this as I headed to the closest beer tent. You see in the beer tent I would be safe, they were covered so the ankle deep mud didn't exist. I was safe. I spent the rest of the day in the beer tent, listening to zero music, but got rather shitfaced instead. I might have had fun on day 5, if it wasn't for the fact I would have to leave eventually. And plod through those Millions and Billions and Trillions of worms on the way out. It scared the living shit out of me.
When I finally got back to where I was staying I scrubbed my feet for exactly 38 minutes. And barfed, maybe due to the copious amounts of beer. But probably due to the fact that I had touched Millions and Billions and Trillions of worms.
Lesson learnt #1: Worms are pesky and evil and scare the shit out of me. They are all out to get me
Lesson learnt #2: Don't by rubber boots that are a size to small and expect them to be comfortable for 5 days of hard core music festival fun
Lesson learnt #3: Don't expect double pluggers to protect you from worms in fields of mud. They won't
Lesson learnt #4: Always look where I am stepping when it rains so I don't knowingly step on a worm because if I do ever step on a worm I will die from a heart attack of shear fright.
Here's some great things about rain:
Rain smells nice
Rain makes everything pretty and green
Rain makes the flowers bloom
Rain washes away all the bird poop on my car
Rain fills up my water tank
Rain fills up my pool
Rain fills up the dams
Rain makes me feel like dancing, but not so much outside
Rain in the morning makes me feel like sleeping in
Rain sounds nice on the roof
Rain is much better than snow
Rain means I can wear my fancy rubber boots
Straight down rain is good
Here's some not so great things about rain:
Rain makes everything wet
Rain makes the weeds grow way to fast
Rain makes the grass grow way to fast
Rain makes it hard to spray the weeds and mow the grass
Sideways rain is bad
Rain gives me wet feet
Rain makes for bad hair days
Rain means I can't walk Brown
Rain sometimes means thunder which scares the shit out of Brown
Rain sometimes means a torrential downpour of mass proportions
Rain of torrential downpour of mass proportions floods my garage
Rain of torrential downpour of mass proportions floods my pool
But by far the very worst thing about rain:
Rain brings out those pesky evil worms that scare the shit out of me
Here's some great things about worms:
There are zero great things about worms. ZERO!
Here's some not so great things about worms:
Worms are pesky
Worms are evil
Worms are slimy
Worms jump and leap all over the place
Worms stink, especially lots of dead worms
Worms are out to get me
Worms scare the living shit out of me
Why do worms scare the living shit out of me? Because they do. Everyone I know thinks that it's quite odd that I hate worms. They try to tell me that worms are good for the soil. I don't give a shit about the soil. Maybe I would give a shit about the soil if suddenly everything started to die and there was no food to eat. But even then I would still hate worms.
I'm not scared of anything else. I can easily deal with snakes and slugs and snails and caterpillars (because they have legs) and spiders and bugs of any sort. But it's the worms.
When did I start hating worms? Probably from the time I was exactly 0.01 seconds old. I think it was an inherited trait. From who? I don't know. No one else in my family history has been shit scared of worms. I've traced it back generations, and not one person ever said they were shit scared of worms. Maybe they were just hiding it because they thought it was a bit odd?
I remember when I was 6.10 years old I had a nightmare. A nightmare of mass proportions. A nightmare so bad I still remember it now.
This is what happened in the nightmare:
There was a can of Zoodles in the cupboard. You know, the animal shaped noodles in spaghetti sauce that every Canadian kid grew up on. That and Kraft Dinner, but at that time Kraft Dinner only came in tubes, not animal shapes. That can of Zoodles somehow became open. The only animal to escape was a worm. I don't think worms were part of the Zoodle family, they aren't an animal kept on display in a zoo after all. It must have been a bit of a broken Zoodle, perhaps part of a giraffe or a hippopotamus or a penguin.
But it was the worm, and only the worm that escaped. It was pesky and evil. It had a mission, a conspiracy theory to scare the shit out of me. It slithered down the hallway and found my bedroom. It then jumped and leaped so it could reach my bedspread. It then slimed it's way up to just below my chin. I was lying on my back. Suddenly out of nowhere it produced a finger. Or maybe it was a mutant worm that had two heads. Whatever the case, it reached out and touched me on my chin.
All hell broke loose then. I yelled and screamed. Then I woke up. My parents came running to see what was the matter. I was clawing at my chin with desperation. The worm had touched me. YUCK!
Fact: Since that day I have never ever touched or stepped on a worm.
Okay, revised fact: I have never stepped on a worm knowingly, but I have never touched a worm.
I say that I have never stepped on a worm knowingly because I am still alive. Of course I have unknowingly stepped on worms, but if I knowingly ever stepped on a worm I would have died from a heart attack of shear fright.
Last year I went to a 5 day outdoor music festival. I like music festivals quite a lot. Music festivals are great, except when their not so great. What makes music festivals not so great? When it rains and rains and rains and turns the fields into a huge mud pit. Because we all know what lives in mud pits. Lots and lots of worms.
This is what happened at the 5 day outdoor music festival:
It started off really great. I was with friends having fun. I had my brand new fancy rubber boots that would protect me from any pesky evil worms. The only problem was that my rubber boots were a size to small. Why? Because I have very big feet and I couldn't find any my size. They were comfortable enough when I tried them on, but I couldn't wear thick socks in them. It didn't occur to me that after wearing them for 13 hours a day for 5 days straight that I may come across problems.
I did. Problems of mass proportions in fact. After day 2 I started developing blisters. Only small ones. By the end of day 3 small blisters became big blisters, and other small blisters developed quite rapidly. On day 4 I was wearing so many bandaids I'm pretty sure I should have owned shares in the bandaid company. At the end of day 4 I ended up in the first aid tent with ice on my blisters. By this time the fields were pure mud. I thought that I might be in trouble on day five.
I was. I woke up late, everyone else had already gone. I knew there was no way in hell that I could wear my rubber boots. But I had a plan, a very clever plan. Why didn't I think of this earlier? Because it turned out not to be a very clever plan after all.
The plan:
Instead of wearing my fancy rubber boots, I'd wear my double pluggers. Simple, I would still be mildly protected from worms and I would be having so much fun it wouldn't matter. The plan didn't work.
This is what happened:
I went to day 5 of the music festival all happy ready to have a great time. I had my double pluggers on and had no worries. Within exactly 17 seconds of walking in the mud I realised it was not going to work. Within exactly 49 seconds of walking very strangely one of my double pluggers broke. You see they kept sinking into the mud and getting stuck until finally one snapped off completely. Oh shit.
My feet were now in direct contact with worms. Millions and Billions and Trillions of worms. Ever step I took I thought about this. Squishing worms between my toes, but I couldn't see them thankfully. I tried not to think about this as I headed to the closest beer tent. You see in the beer tent I would be safe, they were covered so the ankle deep mud didn't exist. I was safe. I spent the rest of the day in the beer tent, listening to zero music, but got rather shitfaced instead. I might have had fun on day 5, if it wasn't for the fact I would have to leave eventually. And plod through those Millions and Billions and Trillions of worms on the way out. It scared the living shit out of me.
When I finally got back to where I was staying I scrubbed my feet for exactly 38 minutes. And barfed, maybe due to the copious amounts of beer. But probably due to the fact that I had touched Millions and Billions and Trillions of worms.
Lesson learnt #1: Worms are pesky and evil and scare the shit out of me. They are all out to get me
Lesson learnt #2: Don't by rubber boots that are a size to small and expect them to be comfortable for 5 days of hard core music festival fun
Lesson learnt #3: Don't expect double pluggers to protect you from worms in fields of mud. They won't
Lesson learnt #4: Always look where I am stepping when it rains so I don't knowingly step on a worm because if I do ever step on a worm I will die from a heart attack of shear fright.
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