Thank all the Powers that be for toothbrushes, toothpaste and breath-freshening mints.
Felicia forgot to brush her teeth this morning and let me tell you, dragon breath is like your Aunt’s Christmas hand-sewn lavender-stuffed posing* pouch compared to the breath of a werewolf who was out for a late snack.
Any of you that are dog owners will know the smell of a dog that rolled in something dead. Felicia’s breath is like that, only far, far worse. I would have declined to go anywhere with her that wasn’t the open air, and even then I could tell when she was within fifty yards. Eww.
Those of you who share living space with cats will know the smell already.
St. Pity’s got their vestry door sorted out. Father Williams got in touch with Harold (and bumped him for another fifty quid) and Harold gave him the name of a Architectural reclamation firm that he used to use when he was in the second-hand business. This is the sort of firm that buys up derelict properties for next to noting, rips out all the stonework, woodwork, chimneypots, beams and floorboards, sells off all the bits for more than the building cost, tears down the remains and sells it as a brownsite lot. They happened to have a stack of old church doors in stock and sold him one for eighty quid.
That was a backfired plan then.If I’d just asked Harold in the first place I could have saved us seventy quid. I feel dirty, just giving money to the church.
On the other hand, isn’t the fact of Father Williams not returning the leftover collection fraudulent? I may get the old miser on avarice.
Oh, Happy day!
*or should that be posy?