if I knew how to tweet

(and I don't; I can't do Facebook either, maybe because my early attempts served as aversion therapy - they seemed to garner the most terrible twaddle from people who in real life were nice to talk to) - anyway, if I could do Twitter, it might prevent me from being so long-winded all the time. I would still rant and rave, though.

And I could tell you in fewer words how horrible it was to be clearing a blocked outside drain the other day, finding a) that the man who repaired the concrete in the yard when the new drains were installed two years ago had thoughtfully disposed of all his excess concrete down said new drain, and b) that even heavy duty rubber gloves are still too short to avoid filling up with stinky, matter-y, black water when a delicate little hand has no option but to plunge down said blocked drain to stab thick disc of concrete with sharp implement till it breaks into small enough pieces to be dragged out. Concrete dumped in drain, hatpins in effigy of concrete guy, swampy water in gloves, stinky hands in Dettol. There, will that do?

And don't get me started on that mollycoddled fluffy cat who pretended twice that she couldn't get out of Suzy's back yard in the middle of the night.....