25. Passnotes no. 3, 200 Kerb Appeal
Age: Since Wilma stuffed a large pot of winter flowering pansies by the cave entrance in an attempt to hide the recycling bins.
Huh? I said, kerb appeal. Or, if you are my American reader, curb appeal. Hi there. How’s the snow?
Is it because the lines of people queuing to buy your house are annoying the neighbours? Like all those nannies in Mary Poppins. Explain?
That you are trying to curb the appeal of your house. Would that it were, my fair friend, would that it were. Alas, since our house hit the market last weekend we have had but one viewing and that was a very elderly couple who struggled to get up the stairs. It does beg the question as to why they were looking around a four bedroom house but I guess that’s their business.
Not brewing enough coffee? Lack of bread smells? Jellywoman is working on the basis that the house is still lacking in kerb appeal. She is spending the weekend trying to increase the likelihood of enticing passers-by to come and buy.
But you’re at the end of a cul-de-sac. You have no passers-by. Jellywoman is also considering getting InfantPhenomenon to don a sandwich board pointing out the proximity of our house to an Outstanding school and pace up and down outside less Outstanding schools at clocking out time.
So how is this kerb appeal thing going to work? Jellywoman has already borrowed an ace pressure washer from LittleBruv and tackled the paving stones in the front garden. Some of them are red! Who knew?
Is that it? Egad, no. Jellywoman now plans to steal many garden pots from the aged p’s and hit the nursery in the hope of finding something that actually looks good in this weather.
And ActorLaddie? Been charged with sprucing up the paintwork on the rail which stops GrannieBorders plunging over the side of the ramp.
Talking of GrannieBorders… Best not, at the moment. But Ma’s operation went well this week and she’s back home.
Why are you telling us about this kerb appeal thing? To explain why I haven’t had time to write a blog this weekend.
Do say: Best get up and started then.
Don’t say: Does this mean that if you haven’t sold your house by next weekend, we’ll be spared future blogs too?
24. Not even for ready money…
“So where is this market then?”
Pa’s enthusiasm for souvenir shopping has never been a patch on that of the girls – even less so under the blazing Spanish sun. I wasn’t actually there, you understand – this was all reported to me later, but I’m imagining an attractive little town: flamenco dancers on the corner, castanet players frolicking on the lawn, El Nombre and his mates having a kick-about; that sort of thing. The bus had left them in what might have passed for a market square had it not been worryingly uncluttered by markets.
22. Don’t panic Mr Mainwaring!
“How’d it go? Any tips?”
“Complete nightmare! They even opened my desk drawers!”
Not the news I’d hoped for when quizzing Miss Honey on her Ofsted inspection. Something along the lines of ‘a complete breeze’ would have been more reassuring.
So it was that the day before my first Ofsted, I was Dymo-taping labels for the tobacco tins in which I kept my stationery in the fear of a report saying “Yes, all the class can read but by ‘eck, you can’t lay your hands on a treasury tag for love nor money.”
21. In the middle of our street, our house…
LittleSis and Bro-in-law had just moved into their new house when the phone went.
“I know you’re in,” said Ma. “I can see you moving.”
In case you’re thinking that I’m from a long line of mystics (I knew you were), perhaps I should explain that LittleSis’s new house backed onto Ma and Pa’s place. Ma could walk down her garden, across the alley, into LittleSis’s garden straight to the back door. She often did, in fact. As Bro-in-law said, having seen the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding “That is so my life.” We’re not actually Greek. But we do Family.
The Jelly Chronicles 