The list ...

... of things that make us incredibly happy.

1. When TBBT or HIMYM appears on teli.
2. Sweets and chocolate.
3. When Opium comes round to watch a film with us.
4. Stumbling.
5. Tea or coffee, or hot chocolate, or in Clatalie's case, squash from Sainsbury's.
6. Union Jack patterned items.
7. When someone shows they love us by sending us a text.
8. Being silly.
9. Playing lillypad in the lounge where the cushions are safe and you have to jump from pad to pad to avoid being eaten by the crocodiles.
10. Creating plans that are set in stone concerning which rich man we will marry and what our castles will look like.

Some stories

It's now 00:42, which means it isn't yesterday anymore, but today, so I can officially write a new blog post without looking like a sad freak who has nothing better to do with their time than post blog posts. The truth is that there is so much to write about the happenings in and around our house, that there just isn't enough time to type it all up and then make it look pretty, and then make it sound like we shouldn't be locked up, and then make it identity safe. Like the time I told some stranger that Clatalie was in actual fact called Sharon. In my defense, it had to be done, there was just no room for any other kind of reaction.

Anyway, here's what happened today. Our other housemate, Liz, called the emergency gas because our street has been smelling of gas for weeks now, and after I had had a weird dream in which I could smell gas in our house, and she had watched a scary programme in which a house blew up because of gas, she decided it would be safer to be on the safe side. OK, she may not have known about the dream, but still. It was a bit of a weird coincidence!
So Mr. Gasman arrived, and I think he scared Otis Burble a bit, because Otis Burble hasn't quite been himself today. He murmured that he was going into owl hibernation, but I told him that there was no point, because we'll all have moved out in two weeks and he may as well stay up for the fun while he can. He just blinked at me and I haven't quite figured out what the blinking means, so I couldn't tell you what he meant by it.

That was it really, I don't know what Mr. Gasman found, and seeing as Clatalie has been packing all day, I guess not much else excitement has happened in our strangely quite corner of the world. As we were watching teli tonight, we told each other why How I Met Your Mother or The Big Bang Theory was better than the other, and have made a very interesting discovery: we both really like both shows, but for me, How I Met Your Mother wins, and for Clatalie, The Big Bang Theory wins. Why? Because the difference in the theme tunes is that TBBT has words in it and HIMYM doesn't! My verbal memory is rubbish, so singing ba - ba - baba - baaaaa is soooo much easier than singing ... well, I can't remember the words. And obviously, seeking a career that deals with words means that Clatalie has a bit of an affection for language, and a really good verbal memory.

Just in case you may not have found the above stories very interesting, here's a really interesting one. I was in the park recently with Abi, and we found a dead bee and put him on a bread crumb to make it look like he was eating it. I think if the bee had still been alive, we would have become very good friends, so I'm calling him Bizzy.

Topsy Turvy

I talked to Otis Burble the other day. He was awake for once, although I think most of the time he just appears to be asleep. I asked him what our world looked like from his world - perched on the wall. He sniffed, blinked then looked me in the eye as if I was stupid. I did eventually get him to talk to me sensibly, after offering him some of my chocolate. He doesn't eat; he doesn't do much for that matter, but he's a wise old owl, so he knows to appreciate what should be appreciated. My sacrificing chocolate for the sake of our friendship is definitely to be appreciated at a very deep level. Anyway, this is what he said:

"When I am rudely awakened by the monstrosity that you call laughter, I drag my old eyes open to a dismal world that is often dark and grey because you haven't bothered to turn the light on yet. That object in the corner radiates insulting colours of light (he means the teli) and blares out obscenities I do not understand. Besides the mess that you call a living room (it's not that bad, he's really exaggerating!), the only good things are the somewhat witty and partially wise quotes on your wall, and my friends next door - though they all look the same and have now flown away forever, I don't blame them (he's talking about our owl bunting that have now returned home with their rightful owner). And then there's you, who call yourselves human. Do you not see how weird you humans are, with your spotty clothes and weird shoes and those big sheets that you sometimes use as skirts and sometimes as camouflage to hide yourselves? Who are you hiding from? And why do you sometimes jump around your world and sing songs that have no relevance to the world? Your faces confuse me and your movement makes me dizzy."

He fell asleep after he'd said that. Well, he closed his eyes. I am yet to find out why he thinks that it is against all normality to live like we do. Hopefully it won't be long before he's awake again.

Stow away

We have a plan. One of Clatalie's friends is going to New York, so we have created a few plans which define how we could get to New York and enjoy the lols of seeing a country that till now only exists on teli, the internet, and what is left of our imagination.

1. Plan A. The marriage plan. We both marry rediculously rich men. Like, millionaires. Architects, rock stars, doctors and the like. Might take a while and would probably require sacrificing love, whatever that is. It would be a bit like in the olden days. Oo, we could wear Jane Austen style dresses, that would be amazing! Ok, Clatalie would probably disagree. So no dresses, unless we want to. But lots of travelling, books, chocolate and the likes of which we cannot afford anything right now. Poor us. 


2. Plan B. The invisible cohort. We smuggle into Clatalie's friend's suitcase, reappearing only when he arrives at the other end, having passed through security safely, and at a fair distance to the airport. Would mean some explaining, but we'd have plenty of time to think of something incredibly believable and sympathy stimulating.


3. Plan C. The sneaky smugglers. We lie in wait at some airport in England, and search out for the most naive travelers around. Then, when they are not looking, we remove all their clothes from their suitcases, and squeeze ourselves into the empty suitcases. Involves the risk of not quite knowing what country we'll end up in. On the other side, there are two things that can happen. Well, three:

• We rise out of the suitcases on the other end and drift through passport check and security (with our passports obviously), as if we were innocent passengers that had just had a long flight and couldn't wait to eat and sleep and get on with life. Problem with looking scruffy (I'm guessing one would be quite scruffy after spending hours in a suitcase in the hold of an aeroplane. Not to mention frozen), but then some people just are scruffy. How to get back? Make money, or follow the same procedure. Where there's a will there's a way. If the will isn't there, then we obviously want to stay.
• We wait till our hosts have left the airport premises and sneak out of the suitcases. Might be a bit tricky finding the right time to exit unseen. But hey, who isn't up for an adventure!?
• We get caught and have to be escorted back to Britain in our own private jet, surrounded by strong police men who give us lots of chocolate and tell us exciting stories about capturing criminals and eating gingerbread. Seems the safest option to me.

Because of our amazing organisational skills, we haven't actually got round to trying any of these out, but if we do end up in New York or Australia or India, we will send you a post card. 

Oh, I've just remembered - Otis Burble. Oh, but he's a bird, he can make his own way there, he doesn't even have to go by map!

Staying in for the knight

Apparently, according to Clatalie, we sound high. I was merely commenting on the fact that Otis Burble hears and sees but doesn't speak. Can you get high on orange juice? Or maybe on too much Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, Rules of Engagement, Alan Carr, 2 Broke Girls and Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23? 

It's bed time!

Mysterious Knocker

We had a mysterious knocker the last few nights. They didn't even use the knocker. But Clatalie braved the dangers of being shot and told the person to go away. Otis Burble didn't say anything. I think he's a bit fed up of random things happening. I'm sure he will have a wise word to say tomorrow!

Too familiar

So Clatalie and I are doing this thing where we say the same thing at the same time, then look at each other in shock and horror, then giggle a bit then kind of carry on with whatever we were doing. It was funny at first, but it's now got to the point where it's just weird and it feels like we're gradually becoming each other. So I've decided it's time to go separate ways and live our own individual lives. We definitely need to get out more. Moving out now seems less daunting, even if Clatalie insists I don't love her. It's my love that will save us, believe me! But yes, I will miss you. And the house. And chocolate.
Oh, no, chocolate is coming with me. lol.