A Four-Legged Child & Aunt Penid's Premonitions

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First of all, apologies for my absence, I've been given some new medication which interferes with concentration and rational thinking.....it's called shite weather. No really, I'm adjusting to some new weasel-skin pain-killing patches, and some anti-contrafibularity tablets. One causes hallucinations, one causes flying and other phenomenon. So I've been busy...yadda yadda yadda.
Right! Hello Faithful-But-Slightly-Off-Key People. It's been an eventful month. The March winds are always unpredictable, but they took my feckin' hedge! I moved into another one down the lane, but there was no socket in the tree stump for a microfilter, and when I mentioned Hedgeband 8meg to a BT supplier, the result was...change supplier. Gits.
Now I'm set up with my laptop, the toads are happy and will be home from school any moment. Life is good, or it was.
Aunt Penid rang on the yoghurt pot telephone the other day, apparently their daughter Vileda is ill, and needs country air to heal her ailments. Apparently, after drinking seawater and looking at a powerstation on the same day (they're very superstitious), she's grown an extra two legs.
Vileda has always been talented, in the picture on the far left she can be seen perching on her fathers' shoulder, like a parrot - something she'd often jump up and do to gain his attention. This backfired when he accidentally batted her off one day, after some tiresome pigeons had poupped on his suit. She's not sat up there since.
Aunt Penid is the stern woman in the wicker chair, she doesn't lick the lid of life. Her skills involve turbomancy. This is the lost Welsh art of predicting future events by rubbing turbots freshly pulled out of the water. Behind her are Cousin Imelda-Rabula (a world-champion slate layer and part-time coroner) and her husband Gimp (the less said about him the better....it never gets stuck there by accident).
They arrived on Tuesday, and I've had enough now. It's still Tuesday. I've written a poem about my feelings, on the suggestion of Dr Clangamunta from the Alternative Health Centre. He reckons I have a demon in my stomach. I reckon it was the squits after a madras, but there you go. This is what I wrote (it helps if you put it to the tune of 'A Bicycle Made For Two':

Dearest Family,
Please go and stay elswhere,
I feel violent
I could tear out my hair.
Cos you are all raving nutters,
With nowt' behind the shutters,
So pack and be gone,
And run along,
With ten legs between four of you.

Dr Clangamunta wanted me to fish out my inner bard. Codswallop, Shakespeare never got to the point, which was why he had so much trouble with women. If you look at a picture of him, it's obvious that he couldn't even tell a hairdresser what he wanted. Stick to cold, hard facts.
Vileda is a dreadful child, by the way, spoilt rotten. I'm glad she's got two extra legs, as they like me to take her on my walk in the morning - with two extra shoes to put on, it gives me a five minute head start.
So, folks, I'm going to sit out this horror, and be charitable. Maybe my inner poetry will take over where the tortoise left off (or has rarely been, there are only four proper tortoise poems on here...). I need something big to wonder on..... Aunt Penid can't read the turbot today, she's rubbed too many of them and they're hiding. So she's having a go at lousomancy. She's sitting by the woodpile and watching a plethora of woodlice and getting insights from their movements.
Aunt Penid has forecast that I will travel to the Moon next week, Aunt Vom will become more spiritually conscious, Aunt Gourd will think about something relevant for five minutes, Great Uncle Mandy will become manly, Folly will move out of home, and Aunt Mary-Jaffa will help out with the next Christingle Service. Yep...chinny-reckon, and on yer bike....
The woman's a crank!!!! .....

I will try and write something about tortoises next time. It's all very well having a blog that not very tortoisy as a joke, but this is taking the piss slightly...........

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