Ah yes, I know it's Wednesday, but I'm going to tell you about our little adventure on the weekend, as the last few days have yielded very little blog-worthy material.
So: Friday afternoon my dear friend K and I were emailing away, and she asked when we wanted to go and visit her mum's farm in country Victoria. No dates in the next few weeks suited, so on the spur of the moment I said "Hey, let's go tomorrow!" "Agreed!" she typed.
The next morning was a flurry of activity. We raced around and packed our things (do you know how much stuff you need to carry with you when you have a toddler? A LOT), then zoomed into the city so I could get my haircut (this is not something I usually do just for country weekends away, I'll have you know, this was booked in weeks ago), then we picked her up and away we drove.
Two hours later we arrived at the farm. It was lovely. Paddocks dotted with sheep and horses as far as the eye could see, and that big blue sky all above us. We had a quick lunch, then pushed up our sleeves and dug out all the weeds from the vegie patch.
Four long hoe-wielding hours later we were done. The pile of weeds dug out was so large that we could have made a bonfire out of it. I only wish I'd taken a before and after photo, nagdamnit. After savouring a glass of red whilst watching the sun set and admiring our handywork, we headed inside, had a gorgeous meal of kangaroo steaks on couscous, then settled in front of the fire before heading to bed.
Now, you'd think after all that digging I'd be guaranteed a good night's sleep, right? "Wrong!" squeaked the usual inhabitants of the house. I was just drifting off to sleep when I felt something sharp attacking my wrist bone. I absentmindedly kneed the Galumph in the back, and said "Stop doing that thing with your fingernails, wouldya?" In a sleepy voice he replied "Whaddareya talkin about? My hands are down here". A moments silence followed, before we jumped out of bed yelping "EWWWWWW - MOUSE!"
Now, normally I'm not too fussed about mice. I grew up in an old farmhouse in the country, so I'm down with the little rodents. Mice are mice, right? But when it's dark, you're in a strange room, and you've just discovered that one has been sampling YOU for dinner, it's slightly unnerving. We flashed the torch around, and moved the bed back from the wall. This might have been a mistake, as the carpet was, well, carpeted with mouse droppings. Of course, all this activity disturbed Grumbles, who tossed and turned and wouldn't go back to sleep. After a couple of hours we ended up dragging her into bed with us. In morning, as I made up her port-a-cot, the worse discovery came - mouse poo in there everywhere! AND stuck to the back of her pjs! No wonder the poor tiger was a bit upset.
The moral of the story is... actually, there is no moral. Cats are good? Mice are bad? They're certainly gross! And if you hog the hoe for four hours without giving anybody else a go, then you'll end up with a nice case of hoe-arm.