Mrs Rippers fancies herself as a bit of a Felicity Kendall. She has been talking about adopting the Good Life and growing vegetables and flowers on an allotment attached to the cottage we are buying in Bristol. With my culinary expertise I must say it would come in handy, but now it seems we may have stirred up a hornet's nest among the gentry of the little village.
Mrs R rang to inquire about the allotment today to be told that some people were very upset about the fact it had been advertised along with the house when, in actual fact, there was a waiting list. God, hope this doesn't turn into some kind of Straw Dogs scenario with the locals muttering "You're not from around 'ere" before attacking us with their pitchforks. Ooh err, watch this space.
Like many married couples, it didn't take us long to acquire a pet. And this one is rather cheap, too.
Mrs R loves nothing better than to open all the windows on a hot evening when the lights are on, so that we are visited by numerous creatures of the night (thankfully the Prince of Darkness doesn't know where I live, or where I stash the alcohol for that matter). Anyway, returning from cooking in the kitchen the other day I noticed a beautiful, snowy white moth on one of the curtains. Immediately I pointed him out to Mrs R who, being the gentle creature she is, warned me that I wasn't to squash it or bash hell out of it as used to be my solution to most fluttery, flappy things (as Withers knows too well).
So instead I have adopted it and we have called it Mozzer, Mrs R came up with the name because it is Morrisey's nickname, apparently. So Mozzer and I have been living in domestic bliss for the last few days and I must say he is pretty easily pleased. He seems to find a place and settle on it for hours, sleeping away the day.
You have to be careful, though. He does seem to like places like the floor and the carpet where he cunningly disguises himself, so well in fact that I dread the day that I wobble home and accidentally tread on the poor dab.