Cosmic Inbalance

All last evening the ‘Nutty Daddy’ was a complete pain in the arse.
It was a windy night and the letterbox kept getting caught by it, making a tapping sound as the door was buffeted.
“What’s that?”, says ‘Nutty Daddy’
“It’s the wind blowing the door”.
Two seconds later,
“What’s that?”
“It’s the wind blowing the door”.
“What’s that?”
“It’s the wind blowing the door”.
At this point I considered running into a wall head first.
This continued all the way through the first half of the England match. During half time I Blue Tacked every single bit of door furniture down and ‘tacked’ the letterbox shut.
No more noise.

I remembered to unstick it for the paper ’fugee. He doesn’t need that kind of challenge at the moment.
He just got a bike!
He‘s only pushing it at the moment, it’s a start, and Norman Tebbit would be proud.

He then became obsessed with a set of car keys that were on the side. Every time he walked past them, which was once every five minutes, (He was on a mission to find the banging door) he picked them up and asked whose they were.
Maybe my patience was running just a tad thin, but am I the only one who thinks moving the keys out of sight is a pretty fucking sensible move?
So I moved them myself and the cosmic ‘Thank You’ for that?
MY fucking keys have gone missing from their home in the front door.
I think of it as the Universe ‘Tutting’ at me for being so impatient. Just letting me know, ‘Be nice, or else‘.

Today, I have been on a mission to find some sort of legal ‘high’, so I headed out to Hedonic and returned with Thai dragonfly! It is a liquid Kratom extract and is supposed to give a ‘dreamy, Opium like sensation’. I thought being in this sort of state would help me with the ‘Nutty Daddy’!
It says to take 5ml, so, in true Sleepy style, I took 10ml!
The liquid itself is a particularly crappy brown colour, I got over that by disguising it in a cup of tea.

This evening I have been a little bit wicked. It may have been the Dragonfly stuff, but then again……..
The ‘Nutty Daddy’ has taken to eating his dinner with his face about 3 centimetres from the plate. So, I cooked spaghetti and meatballs!
We had a full ‘Lady and The Tramp’ moment, except his head was hoovering round the dish trying to find the end.
It was excellent!
I almost lost bladder control when he asked for a bib because, “This stuff splashes up at me”.
I was wondering, ‘How?… Your face is so close to your plate we could dispense with cutlery’!
I know the powers that be will get me, but it’s war until I get my keys back.

Housemates… What in the name of all that is holy, gives you the impression that the tin opener doesn’t need washing?
For some reason Asda don’t put ring pulls on their tins of chopped tomatoes. So I was forced to use it.
It looks like someone has been opening tins of fucking mud, tar and other assorted nastiness. The blade thingy punches through the lid people, that's how it works! Therefore it gets the contents of the tin on it!