SATURDAY JANUARY 1ST

Rita fell down the stairs at twenty-two minutes past midnight on New Year’s day.
    
I had hoped for a better start to my diary - perhaps a poem glorifying the act of diarying, or a
quote from a famous diarist, such as Shakespeare (‘Wroteth another play today…’), but writing a diary is all about recording what actually happens. And sadly at 12:22, what actually happened was Rita falling down the stairs.
 
I was in the loft at the time, putting the finishing touches to my anti-bird device. Recently we’ve been having a lot of problems with pigeons and nesting birds (sparrows, pea-havens etc.) who’ve been making their home amongst the rafters.

My ‘Bird Beddie’ is designed to lure the winged beasts into a sort of holding pen. It’s basically a mini tent made from an old dressing gown, a few bits of clothing and some cricket stumps. Once inside, the bird triggers a tape recorder, which plays a cassette of my friend, Tony Sutton, whistling some lullabies. The theory is that the bird, subdued by the gentle melodies, falls into a deep sleep, and all I have to do is simply remove it and release it into the wild.

That’s the theory at least. In practice, the tent had collapsed and a rather chubby wood pigeon was using a pair of my underpants as its nest.

When I heard the crash from below, I hurried downstairs to find Rita lying on her back, clutching her ankle.

‘You better get the car.’ She said. ‘I’ve done it again.’

Rita and her ankle have never got on.  Last year we made a succession of ankle-related visits to the hospital:

1)     Fell down stairs (x 2).
2)     Foot caught in seatbelt when getting out of car. Fell out of car.
3)     Foot caught in seatbelt when getting into car. Fell into car, then out of car.
4)     Dropped hammer on ankle (my fault).
5)     Trod in bucket of water (Tony’s fault).
6)     Sprained it whilst asleep (nightmare about the Olympics).

After waiting five hours in Accident and Emergency, during which time I saw a man in a
neck-brace trying to bite a nurse, we returned home. Rita is on crutches again.

THURSDAY JANUARY 20TH

Was severely excited to receive my first letter of the year from my Swiss German pen-friend, Gunter Schwartz, today.  What exciting times!

I have been corresponding with Gunter for nearly 40 years now, and I can safely say that his English gets worse and worse with each letter…


My dear friendly Robin,

New year welcomings to you!

I do hope the festivity’s have not left you bereft of feeling. For me, I am one in which I am not only to have been being but we do hope so.

Robin, I am sory to tell you again about the terrible situation with the house handles. It is so bad that I have since atempted a repprimand but to no effects. You would not believe it but I tell them otherwise.

What are we to be doing Robin? The house handles cannot be lifted or even pulled along. When my father is trying to bind them with kindlung, this caused so much slipage that it is making him a pain of the face.

How is Rita’s ankle bonies? Did they decide what is best to her? Or did they say otherwise? Please let me in the no. I am awaiting with impatience.

Zurich is full up with the snow. Hurry up sun and make water fast, I tell them!

Heidi is also sending her regardments.

Your ever friendly,


Gunter Schwartz

The ‘house handles’ saga has been going on for months now.  Every letter seems to have some mysterious reference to ‘house handles’, but we have absolutely no idea what house handles are.
Unfortunately it’s too late to ask now.

Instead, Rita and I wrote out the following list on the easy-wipe message board on the fridge.

House Handles (might be):

1) A type of door handle (but much heavier).
2) Straps of some sort (i.e. for a large bag or briefcase, although in his previous letter Gunter mentioned that house handles cannot be put on the shoulder - so probably unlikely).
3) Banisters (that keep snapping?).
4) An anvil (but I don’t recall Gunter ever showing any interest in metalwork/blacksmithery, or anvils).
5) Something that is only ever used by Swiss Germans and no one else in the world.

We think it’s probably number 5.


House Handles (might be):

1) A type of door handle (but much heavier).
2) Straps of some sort (i.e. for a large bag or briefcase, although in his previous letter Gunter mentioned that house handles cannot be put on the shoulder - so probably unlikely).
3) Banisters (that keep snapping?).
4) An anvil (but I don’t recall Gunter ever showing any interest in metalwork/blacksmithery, or anvils).
5) Something that is only ever used by Swiss Germans and no one else in the world.

We think it’s probably number 5.


FRIDAY JANUARY 28th

I don’t know what they put in that toothpaste, but as soon as I’d brushed my teeth this morning (and had a little nibble from the end of the tube), I shoved on my slippers and rushed out to the shed.
 
I have a new idea. A fantastic idea! It’s a sure fire billy-boy HIT!  Be off with you ‘early retirement!’

But before I got started – and like all good inventors - I made a quick inventory of everything inside my shed:

 Shed Inventory (No. 19) as at 7:45am, Friday January 28th by Robin Cooper

9 x spades (various sizes)
Rake
Trowel
Towel
Broken deckchair
Atlas
1 x Pickwinkle (think it’s called a pickwinkle, as it does look like a pickwinkle)
3 x bags manure (1 particularly soft bag)
(Anti) slug pellets
Table tennis table
Seeds
30 x empty cans of ‘Pennyfeather’s ale’ (NB: Speak to Tony)
1 x toilet seat
Bleach (x 12 bottles)
Typewriter
Handkerchiefs
Pulley system
Packet of Biscuits
2 x bags of pegs
2 x marbles
Toolbox containing tools (NB: contents require separate list)
Vice
150 x nails
143 x screws
55 x pencils
Bandages/ankle couplings
3 x Plaster casts of Rita’s leg (one signed by former hostage Brian Keenan, who we met two years ago outside a bank in Harrow)
Box of chalk