Folly Made Breakfast...

Well, it's been an eventful few weeks, I'm posting this from my temporary accommodation provided by the government as we've had a little disaster. They've been very nice, keeping me wrapped up with blankets, and provided a special box for the toads. I get fed three times a day (no hessian crackers here, though, and no lungwort soup) but it's better than an iron boot up the arse.

It all started two days ago.....

Aunt Bench, in a desperate plea, left a note, pinned to her daughter, on the doorstep of Mrs Coddy from next door. Bench is suffering episodes of 'funny ideas' and 'wistful notions of sailors' again, and needs a break. So at 6am yesterday, she put Folly on Mrs Coddy's doorstep and said 'Wait here until she opens the door, darling, and don't be impatient and ring the bell'. Mrs Coddy finally opened the door at 1pm, and found Folly eating the cow parsley. Of course, not wanting to take in a renowned disaster magnet, she tactfully came to me on the grounds that 'family is better'. I could quite cheerfully kick Mrs Coddy up the arse...but she'll keep for now. No-one will look for her under her own patio.

I managed to keep Folly entertained and out of trouble for the first night. While she was distracted in destroying a perfectly good piano with grandfathers' mace, I had time to hide the matches, flammable liquids, and anything that could be set fire to or exploded. Once my task was completed and I'd taken the bolt cutters off her for the third time, I tried to teach her counting, which failed after she ate the flageolet beans I was using for demonstration purposes. Then I decided a game of Ludo would be nice, but she's eaten four green counters and two yellows, and Lord knows where the red one went. So I switched tack and we watched 'Snatch' on my new wooden DVD player that Weevil made for me. It's marvellous, a little grainy in the picture, but great for what I need. And Brad Pitt was in his most handsome, hunky role....

It's funny, but other than looking after the toads, I'm not very maternal. I have no yearning for creating socially dangerous people to go charging across our little village, so I find this 'mentoring' and 'nurturing' gubbins rather tiring.
I slept fantastically, and vaguely remember noises in the kitchen first thing. As soon as my subconscious shouted to me to get up and check on Folly, there was the most almighty 'BOOM!', followed by a cold wind and a rushing sensation.
The rushing sensation turned out to be my bed-bound airborne journey from my hedge, across the fields and byways of Trebollocks, and onto the roof of St Crapulent the Martyr's church in Skiddy-Under-Grundy, seven miles away. I thought I was on the set of Bedknobs and Broomsticks for a minute, until I sailed over East Bung and caught sight of Bench down by the docks.

According to the police, the fire department, and the bomb squad, a unique chain of events happened that defies human comprehension. But they gave it a title, and my heart sank when I read the heading of the report. It just said....'Folly Made Breakfast - NATO Class III Alert'.

Forensics said the damage was caused by three things: Trying to cook a gas bottle in a pan on a gas cooker (she'd even seasoned it with Jamie Oliver's Lemon & Thyme salt mill; poking dynamite into the toaster; and baking some petrol soaked halibut in the oven at gas mark 8 for 30 minutes. (The fish had a chilli and flat leaf parsley rub, and was garnished with roasted shallots and peppers.

I now have to find Bench and tell her that Folly is being 'counselled' by a nice lady with a big cardie, chunky beads and a tasselled skirt. The police have also told me that Folly is a death trap and must not be let out into the community again, at which point I was hopeful until the social worker whined on about rights. I was gutted. She's been released into my custody, even after licking the face of an old policeman.

Aunt Vom turned up and took her way, thankfully. When Vom got her home, she hung Folly up on a coat peg by the loop in her school blazer, and is leaving her there until the morning. I like to picture her there, with her little feet dangling below. I'm so grateful to Vom, but furious with Bench. My hedge is ruined, Mrs Coddy is livid as the blast flattened six of her geese. They're ok, but you can only see them when they turn side-on.
Trebollocks has issued a state of emergency, and thousands are homeless or living in dangerous conditions. The Royal Marines are being called in to clear up the mess. The mess was so scary, the Coldstreams ran away and told their mums.

The Home Secretary and the Ministry of Defense are monitoring Folly, and instructing Vom on her care. the Russians have already been on the blower to Number 10 and said whatever the bribe is for Folly, they don't want her. Bin Laden sent a text saying 'don't even ask, man'. The social worker popped in with advice on sharing and issues. Vom showed her her knife collection, and the woman went away with apologies.

So, no Fawlty Towers omnibus for me, no quiet teas by the brambles, no crackly leaf carpet, no more hedge until it's been checked and sealed by men in plastic suits with 'creaky things' that read radiation. I'm only able to write this thanks to the emergency dongle, kindly provided by Major Ponsonby-Goppin, of Her Majesty's Royal Marines. They play nice music as well. As I was being airlifted off the church, they did a drum display to keep us entertained. We all clapped, except the Vicar, who'd lost a hand in the blast.

Sadly, most of my spiders didn't survive, but the Marines rescued Peadar, and have housed him in a little box in my sidebar. Though I wouldn't recommend pointing a cursor at him as he'll come after it and take it off to his web for tea. They also rescued Leopold and Erica, the tortoises, which are also in the sidebar, so point at them if you like, as they're too slow to catch anything.

I will report more when Trebollocks is a little better restored, and I'm safe in the knowledge that Vom has nutted Bench for her stupidity. Meanwhile, any ideas on how to re-decorate my hedge? Do I go rustic again, or street chic? And does Feng Shui really affect the happenings in the house? If so, is there a magic mirror to repel unruly children?