twinkling

I'm feeling less than twinkly at the moment, on account of spong.

We had a new oven delivered a week ago. This is, certainly, something to be pleased - if not exactly twinkly - about.

After more than 15 years using an oven with no functioning timer; increasingly inefficient seals; ever more unreliable thermometer; fractious, stubborn, needing-to-be-coaxed and finally completely unresponsive grill it is certainly satisfying to have a fully functional, efficient oven. With glass windows which CAN BE SEEN THROUGH and which WONT FALL OUT at the slightest tremor.

I may not quite be feeling like one of those 1960's housewives from the adverts, my marriage and home now complete and twinklyperfect, but i am quite pleased.

I couldn't quite believe how easy it was to remove this manky old piece of crap from its hole in the wall and unplug it, ready for our new arrival.

I was, however, completely gobsmacked by the quantity and the disgustingly greasy quality of the spong which had accumulated in the hole from whence it came.

Had I been sufficiently composed to take pictures, I would have been too ashamed to post them here.

The oven had occupied ALL of the space, with its front edge/surround fitting over the edge of the hole.
How could such obnoxious spong find its way in there? And so much of it?

I now know why it is important for mice to be able to compress their soft little bones to fit through gaps scant millimeters wide. It is because no gap is too small or narrow to accommodate interesting and potentially nutritious spong.

In fact, I'm sure I saw a suspiciously tailed shadow scurrying across the kitchen floor that very night, before I retired to my cool clean-sheeted bed.



Tonight, a week later exactly, I tried to throw something away in our kitchen bin. Not only was the bin full, but the compressed nature of its contents suggested that considerable force had been applied to make space for more rubbish, no doubt to avoid the torture of the 5 meters trudge to the wheelie bin.

I had to invert the whole lot into a large black bin liner - whilst trying not to breathe in through my nose - discovering, in the process, another secret spong repository of equally unphotographable proportions. Not as unspeakably awful as bath-plughole spong, but in the same league of horror.



The last few days have also been full of accumulated messes and unexpected mistakes and problems at work, which I am having to sort through and clean up.

These haven't been disgustingly greasy or - so far - intractable.

They have been bloody annoying.

Changes have appeared in timetables and rooming arrangements which have no apparent explanation and bear no relationship to any other relevant sources of information. Planned events have disappeared from the schedule - other events have inexplicably taken their place.

These complications, which are taking up too much time which might otherwise be spent happily blogging, can - at least metaphorically - be described as spong I think.


Messy, annoying, time-consuming, sometimes unpleasant and/or sticky and of mysterious origins. Likely to re-appear at any time, as soon as the corners are clear and twinkly-clean and you've turned your back.



Our new oven and kitchen bin are now both sparklingly clean and freshly fragrant. But I keep feeling the need to go and scrub my fingernails.


And no, in case you were wondering, this isn't quite the end of my holiday photos.

Yes, there is a link.



Not only was our lovely french holiday home spotlessly free of disgusting spong, but the skies were also free of car-fumes and light pollution.

We could see the Milky Way so clearly that it felt as if we were bathing in its luminous beauty, and one night we lined up the sun loungers and lay for quite a while doing just that, breathing in the warm night air, spotting twinkly satellites far far overhead and marvelling at shooting stars.



I did make quite a few wishes.
None of them related to spong.