Of mice and men

There is something dead in my house. It smells and I can't find it. Yesterday, three large black flies starting doing a dance around the table lamp. The cats are going crazy, chasing after fly shadows and strangely attracted to one of the living room walls. I think there might be a dead mouse inside it, rotting away. But Mr Grigg says this is not possible as the walls are several feet thick. However, I read once that mice can get in the smallest of bloody holes. So who knows? And we do have the Little Nipper up in the attic, just above the living room wall, which is catching a mouse a day. Maybe the smell emanates from the one that got away, or at least thought it did. Before the poison set in. As long as the bloody rats aren't back, that's all I care about.
Working at the Death Star today, I took my rather fetching purple Hawkshead cardigan off. I discovered the jumper I had on underneath was inside out. I slipped off to the loo to change. Don't know why, but I told a complete stranger what had happened.
'Ooh, you can't change it back now. It's bad luck. My nan used to say you had to wear it like that all day.'
And do you know? I bloody did. I am not superstitious but yet I am. If I see a magpie I will salute very firmly, say 'Mr Magpie' and then frantically look for another one. Two for joy rather than one for sorrow. And I'll make someone else pick up a knife I have dropped on the floor. And if I bang my elbow I have to bang the other one (now that's just being stupid). Anyway, I've been sweltering all day. Good luck? Bollocks.
Mr Grigg is now walking around behind me, looking for holes in the walls and tapping them, Basil Fawlty-style. Men!
That's about it
Love Maddie x