Category Archives: Funny

A Spider in the Heat of Summer (50 excerpt)


I’ve been typing this diary entry at the computer in the living room and I’ve just dashed to the kitchen to get a mixing bowl whilst having a sweaty panic attack. This is what comes of having to keep all doors and windows open to combat the intense heat. Now I’m trapped and terrified. It’s ten o’clock in the evening. I don’t think I can deal with this enormous monster by myself. I’m not sure what to do.

I’ve just messaged Lindsay to come and save me. I’m desperately trying not to look at the creature whilst at the same time never taking me eyes off it, so I don’t lose it if it runs off. It’s so big. It’s disgusting. It’s making my toes curl. I’ve put an extended umbrella on the floor next to it and laid a chair on its side in order to keep the thing from running under a desk and into a bunch of wires where it would be difficult to get at. On the other side I’ve put three Asterix books on top of each other. I’m trying to box it in. But I won’t be able to get the mixing bowl over it because it’s right up against the side of the bookcase so the angle isn’t right and I could accidentally chop it in half or tear a leg off or something revolting. I’m sweating with fear and trembling all over. I hope Lindsay gets here soon. This is an awful situation. I hate being a single mother and having to deal with spiders.

I’m frozen. I daren’t move, and I’m praying to God that it doesn’t move either, because then I’ll have no choice but to advance on it with the bowl all by myself. But what if it moves when I go and answer the door? How will I keep it in sight if I’m walking away from it?

Oh thank God Lindsay has arrived.

She has just said, “Oh fuck it’s a tarantula. It’s massive. It’s come straight out of the jungle.”

We are both sweating and swearing and wondering what to do. I don’t think she expected something THIS BIG. We’re also desperately trying not to wake the twins, who are asleep in the sauna upstairs.

“I’m naming him Cedric.” Lindsay is staring at it with deep respect.

We discuss optimal methods of approach. We try out different ways to hold and utilise the mixing bowl for when Cedric moves and she needs to quickly ram it down over him.

Now she’s having difficulty getting him into the bowl because the horrible thing won’t move! How loathsome is that? She’s just prodded it, and all it did was shift a leg slightly. Now she’s stabbing at it with the corner of a magazine… and she’s done it!!!! She’s managed it. Oh thank fuck for that. She did yelp and jump backwards, but the deed is finally done. The monster is underneath the mixing bowl.

Jesus, that was so stressful. We are both panting heavily, but at least we can relax for five minutes until we feel strong enough to complete the second half of the task. Time to wipe ourselves down with kitchen roll.

Stir-fried Tofu (50 excerpt)

Ugh. Just now I popped a piece of stir-fried tofu in my mouth and swallowed, but immediately needed to sneeze. Unable to prevent it, I at least managed to keep my mouth closed, but the pressure of the sneeze forced the tofu up my nasal passage. I started coughing and snorting to try and get it out but it wouldn’t budge, so I drank a sip of my tea in case the heat made a difference. It didn’t, but when I looked down at the kitchen side, the piece of tofu unexpectedly dropped into the back of my throat making me gag and heave the tea back up. In my horror I knocked a heavy knife off the kitchen side, which landed on my toe. I’m traumatised.

Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Is the body an uncontrollable sack of perplexing embarrassment from your fifties onwards? I need a spa day to recover from merely trying to eat.

In The Minds of Young Twins

Here is a brief snippet of a randomly selected early morning:

[We are in a rush leaving the house to go to primary school]

Amy: can I have a plait?

Me: Well Amy, you always pull them straight out and we’re in a hurry. We’re going now.

Amy: <shouting> I want a plait!! I promise I won’t pull it out, I promise, oh please… <stamping, crying, shouting>

Me: you’ll just pull it out straight away like you always do. Now come on, it’s time to go.

Amy: <screaming> AAAAHHHHH I WANT A PLAIT, AAAAAAAAAHHHH <stamping foot on floor, screaming> I promise I won’t pull it out, I won’t pull it oouutttttt!!

Me: <sighing, eye rolling> ok, STAY THERE <she has shoes and coat on and the front door is open. We almost made it outside> I’ll go and get the band <I take my shoes off, go upstairs and get the band then come back downstairs>

Amy: Actually I don’t want a plait.

Me: But you just begged for one and made me go all the way upstairs to get the band?!!?

Amy: <wailing> DADDY, I want daddy!!!! AAAAAHHHHHHH <sobbing and crying as if I have done her a great injury or injustice>

Jack: <crying with tears streaming down his face> I want a plaaaaait!!!

Wonderful Vitriolic Speech!

I watched a film from the 1980s last night, and one of the female characters gave a rejection speech to the man who was trying to seduce her. It really made me smile:

“I am positive that you are the most unattractive man I have ever met in my entire life. In the short time we’ve been together you have demonstrated every loathsome aspect of the male personality, and even discovered a few new ones. You are physically repulsive, intellectually retarded, you’re morally reprehensible, vulgar, insensitive, selfish, stupid… you have no taste, a lousy sense of humour, and you smell. You’re not even interesting enough to make me sick.”

Alex, from ‘The Witches of Eastwick.’