Stone the crows
The stress is beginning to show as the village fete gets closer. I am still no nearer to coming up with an idea for a scarecrow for Saturday. As you can see from these pictures, the standard is extremely high and every time I say 'it's the taking part that counts', the always competitive Mr Grigg rolls his eyes. If winning means that much to him, he should make the bloody thing.
I am meant to be working at home tomorrow but still have to buy, sort out and label prizes for the tombola; dust down the village organisation shields for the parade; lay my hands on the roll-a-penny board; assist Mr Grigg in preparing for Saturday's Big Breakfast in the village hall; remove any pots of importance in the garden before Number One Daughter's two dogs arrive for a weekend visit while she swans off somewhere courtesy of free coupons in The Sun; make two beds up for Number One Son and Number One Stepson and then come up with some wording to introduce the official opener, Cerrie from CBeebies.Oh, and I also have to make a scarecrow.
Oh how I wish I was the jolly allotment holder I heard last night singing All the ducks are swimming the water and then cheerfully whistling The Sound of Music as he chugged away with his rotavator across the valley.
Perhaps the plants that grew univited on our postage stamp last year and looked like this
have spread to his allotment.And to top it all, Mr Grigg is suffering from flatulence. Last night, as we walked with Nobby Odd-Job from a hearty barbecue to celebrate the joint birthday of Manual and a local farmer, a rasping noise popped out from Mr Grigg's nether regions.
'What's that?' I said, moving upwind. 'Did you just drop one?'
'No, it's just my bottom speaking,' Mr Grigg said.
Nobby Odd-Job beat me to it with his response.
'Well, you always did talk out of your arse.'
That's about it
Maddie x
My, you have your hands full! I would start with some of Mr. Grigg's clothes and see where that leads. Good luck!
ReplyDeleteI have no imagination whatsoever, so will be no help to you in the scarecrow department. I think that you should be given a pass on this, though, as you seem to be doing an awful lot in support of this fete.
ReplyDeletePictures, please, of the doings in the village and all the festivities. We don't have anything remotely resembling a village fete over here.
Can you not cheat a little? Perhaps dress up Mr Grigg... bits of straw sticking out of sleeves and trouser legs... false nose etc.. and display him as a farting scarecrow?
ReplyDeleteI agree with Dave Pie-n-Mash...
ReplyDeleteHave a great time, I looking forward to seeing the pics....
oh my! maybe you should pop up the allotment to say hello... it might not get all the jobs done but you'll be a bit more relaxed about it. re. scarecrow - in homage to your celebrity visitor - what about fashioning it as one of those cBeebies blobs- how hard could it be?
ReplyDeleteGood luck!
t.x
Perhaps if Mr Grigg could curtail his flatulance for a decent amount of time he could pose as your scarecrow, I daresay the village having partaken of that suspect looking plant wouldn't notice the difference !! That's if he can abstain from beer the night before.
ReplyDeleteOh I see, everyone else has had the same idea for Mr Grigg unless of course he goes on the tombola as a consolation prize.
ReplyDeleteBlackbird, Dave, Jude and Sally - It had crossed my mind I could prop Mr Grigg up outside the front door, especially if he overdoes the beer tonight. But he is in charge of Hell's Kitchen in the morning for the big village breakfast so I can't. I have, however, come up with a cunning plan after looking on the bookshelf and Googling a character. It involves minimum effort and Number One Son's artistic skills when he comes home from Uni tonight.
ReplyDeleteThe idea of going up to the allotment Kitschen Pink (what a lovely name) is very attractive right now.
Pondside, I'm a glutton for punishment and a bit of a martyr like my mother. I'll try to put some photos up on Sunday.
xx
everywhere I go today people are farting (well, LBD did, too, or rather she didn't, a cub did). Warnings should be issued. I'd get out of scarecrow duty claiming hay fever if I were you.
ReplyDeleteI blame that Ginster's pasty
ReplyDeleteOh very good!! - Ginsteres and a steak or something as well wasn't it??
ReplyDeleteBet all your tasks got done and you had a great weekend.
CKx