Bit of a long winded story this one. Last year, we heard a noise in the attic above our bedroom, and it turns out we had a rat. Next door had been having problems, must have got in a cavity, and into our attic. Anyhoo. Going back six years, we had the house rewired. And naturally, the contractors the council used treated our home and belongings with respect... yeah. They didn't. We no longer have loft insulation (now all in a pile in a corner) and our stuff? Our boxes? Our belongings? Er... Randomly flung around the attic. To hand, where we had placed them? That'd be a no, again!
Fast forward 5 years again, the council graciously concede that if it's someone they've contracted to work for them, then they are responsible and will send someone to put it right. But, it's year of the Rat, so they suggest we deal with this first, then they'll come out. Rat is dealt with, and I'm getting antsy. All my pictures, documents, cards, kids bits from school are up there. Nigh on a year later, I want my stuff! So after 24 hours of giving Mr G grief, he manages to round up a ladder and two mates, slightly less weighty and more agile mates, who rescue our stuff.
So, to reiterate, my house is tidy for the first time this year (yes, I'm aware it's nearly March...). And we add to this about twenty boxes, some plastic, some lidded, some not, some cardboard.
My heart has shattered several times tonight. If the shower of rat shit on my carpets didn't do it, the confetti making they did, did! My language tonight has been a tad fruity... And so I have devised this quiz. For future reference, for any furry rodenty bastards who might want to seek refuge in my attic. I have called it - The Frazzled Shell Citizenship Test. You don't pass it? You get poisoned. Simples.
1. With an entire attic at your disposal, where do you shit?
a) your hosts only daughters christening gown; or
b) I go outside, of course! Duh!
2. Bearing in mind that your host has been saving every piece of her children's artwork for the last 18 or so years. She also has two (cardboard) boxes of old invoices, vat statements, etc pertaining to an old business she owned that can now legally be disposed of. You eat...
a) Damn! That playschool time capsule tasted so goooooood!; or
b) I ate anything marked HM Revenue and Customs.
3. What the actual f**k?
a) I ate your Kylie 'Kylie' debut vinyl album, that you've had since 1988; or
b) I ate your Kylie 'Kylie' debut vinyl album, that you've had since 1988.
4. Times are hard. What do you use to make a nest?
a) random shit I find around the joint
b) the lower half of an eloquent letter I received from my Nain, now deceased
c) a postcard from my best friend who has passed away, but I'll leave your name (it left my f**king name!)
d) my son's first outfit
e) my other son's first outfit
f) my husband's school leaving certificate
g) my husband's Blue Oyster Cult concert programme
h) two f**king boxes worth of worthless shit pertaining to a now defunct business. Untouched, by the way. It ate through plastic, laminate... Paper in cardboard boxes? Too difficult for ratticus twatticus, evidently!
I am emotionally wrought. There is rat shit, what was my children's artwork, bits of photographs, feathers, greetings cards, scattered on my floor like some sort of weird wedding party confetti. I'm done :-(