Late yesterday afternoon as I had been trying to work out just how I could squeeze some salmon cat food through the microwave door without turning Sidney into something resembling cat shaped BBQ briquettes, I received a hand delivered note which was rather surruptitiously pushed under my kitchen door from the garden.
The entire thing was written in some form of cyrillic cuniform. Whether this was an over sight on behalf of whoever wrote the note, or some attempt to impresss me with their knowledge of outmoded forms of writing, I wasn't sure. Needless to say, thanks to the evening class I took a few years ago in cyrillic cuniform after my initial choice of 'Make Your Own Jigsaws' was cancelled due to poor initial interest, I was able to decipher the enitre thing within seconds.
This impressive feat of translation was made somewhat easier by the fact that all the note said was 'Pack your things, you're coming with us.'
I laughed out loud and even held it against the glass in the microwave door so that Sidney could have a giggle at the faux-assertive nature that had been attempted.
As I was calming down I turned around to find a smallish gnome, one I had not seen before, pointing an extremely heavy looking crossbow at my shin. 'The note said to pack your things. Get packing' he said.
'Now then I don't think there's any need for that kind of...' I had not previously realised just how much pain a tiny bolt, from an equally tiny crossbow, (albeit a heavy looking one) can cause.
Needless to say I began packing immediately.
Alas now though I have no idea what the time is at present. All I know is that they promised to free Sidney just as soon as I was out of the house. I am currently in my shed, in the dark with just my laptop and a cardigan as they have taken the rest of my things. Apparently I am going to be shown something only a few have been allowed to see before which is either going to be extremely interesting or may prejudice my health. Either way, I am beginning to think that maybe I should have packed more clean underwear.
The entire thing was written in some form of cyrillic cuniform. Whether this was an over sight on behalf of whoever wrote the note, or some attempt to impresss me with their knowledge of outmoded forms of writing, I wasn't sure. Needless to say, thanks to the evening class I took a few years ago in cyrillic cuniform after my initial choice of 'Make Your Own Jigsaws' was cancelled due to poor initial interest, I was able to decipher the enitre thing within seconds.
This impressive feat of translation was made somewhat easier by the fact that all the note said was 'Pack your things, you're coming with us.'
I laughed out loud and even held it against the glass in the microwave door so that Sidney could have a giggle at the faux-assertive nature that had been attempted.
As I was calming down I turned around to find a smallish gnome, one I had not seen before, pointing an extremely heavy looking crossbow at my shin. 'The note said to pack your things. Get packing' he said.
'Now then I don't think there's any need for that kind of...' I had not previously realised just how much pain a tiny bolt, from an equally tiny crossbow, (albeit a heavy looking one) can cause.
Needless to say I began packing immediately.
Alas now though I have no idea what the time is at present. All I know is that they promised to free Sidney just as soon as I was out of the house. I am currently in my shed, in the dark with just my laptop and a cardigan as they have taken the rest of my things. Apparently I am going to be shown something only a few have been allowed to see before which is either going to be extremely interesting or may prejudice my health. Either way, I am beginning to think that maybe I should have packed more clean underwear.
Now, you have just got to get a grip and take control!!!
ReplyDeleteOh I am trying to get a grip, but being 'grippy' has never come easy, (especially when I'm wearing gloves), objects and, quite worryingly, reality, just seem to slip away from me. Besides, being in this shed waiting for the arrival of all things Gnomic tends to lead one to lose all semblance of anything remotely resembling 'Grip', 'Grippy' or 'Grippish'.
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