Blind terror

Himself was off gallivanting working in Edinburgh on Wednesday and Thursday last, so me and The Bor were home alone on Wednesday night.

Usually this wouldn't really bother me; Himself's now fairly infrequent jaunts abroad work trips represent ideal opportunities for getting in a bit of uninterrupted waxing, or tanning, or nail varnishing, or pottering around in my jammies with a face mask on. On Wednesday night, though, it was pitch black by the time I got home from work [bloody Daylight Savings Time, pah] and I could hear The Bor barking his head off from the train station. My initial reaction was "That little fecker!" but as I got nearer to the house it struck me that the racket he was making wasn't comprised of any of his usual barks. Yes, he has a load of different, totally distinguishable barks - there's the "Look at meeee!" bark, the "OMG I think I just heard a cat four miles away" bark, the "Next door are putting their bins out" bark, the "I just feel like it, alright?" bark... Well, I can tell them apart.

Anyways, he was barking really wierdly and didn't let up when I turned the key in the front door [highly unusual] or come racing headlong at me when I went into the kitchen [unheard of]. I flipped the switch for the outside light to see what the hell he was at and - nothing. Flipped it back the other way. Nada.

Most people would probably conclude at this stage that the bulb had blown and that a cat was tormenting The Bor and go off about their business. I, however, was convinced that there must be a prowler about. As I double checked that all the doors and windows were locked and started to break out in a cold sweat, I cursed the absence of blinds or curtains of any description from the patio door and kitchen window. Suddenly I was very, very aware that Himself's car was absent from its usual spot and sure that any half decent burglar/rapist/crazed serial killer would have scoped the place out for a while and would surely cop what the missing vehicle signified. And then they'd just have to have a peep at the back of the house to confirm that Himself wasn't about.

So I busied myself draping Himself's boxers and mismatched [and therefore boy] socks over the backs of the dining room chairs, the logic being that any would-be wrongdoers looking in over the back fence would say "Hmmm, if she's drying his smalls he must surely be returning home tonight. Retreat!" Or similar.

I also called Himself who was half-cut in a pub in Edinburgh [working, you see] and laughed at me. Then I rang my Mammy, safe in the knowledge that she would take me very seriously indeed [30 minutes after my call, she arrived at the front door with my sister in tow to make sure I was alright.]

The whole episode brought a few things home to me with great clarity.
1. I heart my Mammy.
2. Himself needs new socks.
3. We are getting blinds for the naked patio door and kitchen window pronto.

Well. We're getting blinds in 52 days when IKEA opens in Belfast [can't wait!] They have this nifty double pole panel curtain system yoke that I've been after for ages. It's like what's on the left there.

It's also really bloody hard to find in Ireland and any of the interiors shops I've seen it in are charging the guts of 300 squids for it. The IKEA version, however, will cost approximately half nothing.

So our back windows will be covered and we might actually be able to buy something worth stealing with the sheckles we save.

Re-sult!