...I tell you what I'm going to do...kill it and laugh hysterically.
We moved into our new seaside home over a year ago now. It quickly became apparent that there was something else that had moved in too. A rat in the kitchen roof and under the floor. It was a pleasant experience eating your tea the odd night hearing a scratching or a pitter-patter of feet wondering if it was going to eat its way through the roof onto your lap. We poisoned that rat last year and it was found under the neighbour's floorboards. I like the fact that I poisoned it, but it didn't die in our home.
Now the environment council (the rat-man to me and you) visited us a few times last year and offered advice, poison and some incredible rat stories to keep you awake at night. Infact Andrea had a dream that a rat jumped onto the bed and wee-wee'd in her face. Pleasant.
We thought the saga was over. I'd blocked all known holes. Surveyed the whole house. Bought electronic deterrents, peppermint oil and a nice big rat cage. The winter came again. The day Andrea muttered the words: "Looks like the rat problem has gone", minutes later, as if the rat had been waiting for a dramatic cue, we heard scratching under the floor. The horrified soap-opera look to each other, followed by anger, confusion and rage against the rat was back.
Russell-the-rat-man was invited into our rat house again. It's not just dog-owners who look like their dogs by the way. This time he informed us that 98% of rats come through drains and man-holes. We are not sure why such a statistic wasn't mentioned a year ago to us. Anyway, the cameras were put down our main drains. In the process we found out that when our extension was built, they just covered the kitchen manhole with concrete - nice. We needed to get into this to complete the camera survey. So I took up 6 tiles without breaking them, removed a kitchen cupboard and smashed through 4 inches of concrete to reveal the manhole and a nice little rat route into our home and neighbours home. They get in from the main sewers via the drain into your home when builders do not block up the rodding pipe outlet properly.
The manhole has been dealt with now. There is still a trapped rat on the loose though. We heard commotion next door in the night, lots of banging and a couple of screams. We are too embarrassed to ask if it was rat related incase it was just a noisy-bonk.
Today, we are sure the rat is dying after taking large amounts of poison and a lot of verbal abuse. We've nicknamed it "the love-rat". Why? Because the little dirty goofy rodent spoilt my yearly Valentine home-cooked meal as I had to smash up the floor that day.
So who was next (see previous blog)? It was friends, Lisa and John in London. The last wedding for 2012. Five weddings in total and a few thousand pounds and that's not just monetary.
At a pretty stunning hotel location in Surrey, we stayed over in the top floor of the clock tower with pretty views of the treetops and golf course. A nice big room where you could play with all your toy cars and not run out of roads.
The wedding was a rather long church one so felt sorry for those suffering with hangovers from the night before. I managed to escape those late drinks so felt fairly fresh along with a nice smooth shave and special wedding moisturiser The other half was bridesmaid so I was looking forward to seeing her turn up and dazzle me. She did that in style with a cheeky smile as she walked down the aisle. The bride wasn't bad either.
The party atmosphere remained all day so you know the score: you drink, you listen, you eat, you drink, you laugh, you fart, you drink, you burp, you drink, you squint, you stumble, you slur, you collapse, you sleep, you breakfast.
The wedding day was fantastic and it was topped off with one of the most extravagant gesture I've seen. A fireworks display in the hotel grounds, complete with marshals and professional cordoning off. The show lasted quite some time but was amazing to watch. I'm just hoping Andrea doesn't think that is now the norm. Might be able to get away with a sparkler though...
I've not been much of a fisherman in my lifetime, so I was a bit concerned when I learnt the latest stag do involved fly fishing. It's a bit of a change from the debauchery of recent celebrations and it gave me a change to swing my arm, erect my rod, put me wellies on and catch an old trout. Actually that really does sound like one of those stag do's after all.
With the more senior members, we went along to Brampton Trout Farm and were met by the loud enthusiastic owner. He informed us he'd put a lot more trout in the water and if we caught the tagged huge one, we win a prize in the kitty for £200. A little lesson in the technique and away I went. I could see the trout swimming, right next to my fly which was in the water. But guess what, not one single bite....for 4 hours. We did have one successful catch and it caught a lot of people's attention. We all gathered round the stag as we were informed it was a large trout on the end of his rod. No it wasn't. It was a large branch.
Thank god we later got to celebrate the branch catch in the pub. An interesting and very enjoyable day. Perhaps I'm at that age now...
It's been a while since visiting the Greek island of Rhodes, so with a week to go we booked it, packed it.....off. We headed to the town of Afantou which apparently means invisible, however it was clearly there, on the map AND in real life. The view from our balcony over the sea, it's long pebbled beaches and the winding mountains proved it all existed.
We did a good job of ignoring the bingo night, useless reps and desperate couples who've got no conversation themselves and look for you to hook up with. Instead, we went into the small town to seek out real Greek food. We found it in every restaurant we visited too. We also discovered a gem which was half-Greek-half-English (a bit like Prince Philip), called Sergios. They specialise in home-made pasta and pizza though, not traditional Greek but they did a very good job of putting a smile on our faces as we stuffed it with dough balls, pizza, pasta and Greek wine.
So after a great relaxing holiday, the going home saga began. At 2:30AM, we were picked up by the bus, taken to the airport and told "as you know there is a 7 hour delay". We didn't know, but we knew now. Thanks Thomas Cook, you are very informative. It ended up being a much longer delay in the airport with a 12 euro voucher to buy an old looking sandwich from the war. We were eventually flown home on an antique rented french plane where the only way on and off was from stairs at the back of the plane (recently featured on Channel 4's Plane Crash). The arm rests were stuck on with gaffer tape, not sure what the wings were stuck on with.
We've never been to the Fringe in Edinburgh and keep meaning to go along. The closest we have got is to see some comedians as they perfect their acts for the show. The NewcastleGateshead Comedy Festival allows them do do this and at the Live Theatre we laughed quite a lot seeing Jo Caulfield and Anvil Springsteen.
Jo has been on Mock The Week and other comedy panel shows. I was surprised how good she was, picking up on men's daft habits and inability to work out what is wrong with their other half. This will always remain a mystery to men, so best just leave us to watch the TV with no other thoughts going on in our minds.
Anvil was a lot more different, he threw his prep notes away at the beginning and just got on with the job. His dark humour was often very funny but was sometimes skirting around for laughs but got them. His opinions on young people were spot on and he targeted an 18 year old in the audience to confirm if those 'uncontrolled urges' still go on. They do by the way and surely it's not just when you are younger. What got a lot of laughter involved the sister-in-law as we were there in a group. Anvil was reminiscing and asked if we could all remember Marvel in a tin. He then asked the sis-in-law if she could remember and replied "You mean comics used to be in a tin?". Now that was funny, but the innocence of it all made it funnier again. We chatted to Anvil Springsteen later in the bar, he lives in Newcastle, but is a scouser, so he wasn't 'Born in the USA'. I didn't do that joke but felt like he wanted me to.
All in all, I was pretty well entertained with minimal effort, a bit like watching TV when the Mrs isn't there (see above). We got lush food at The Broad Chare and drink from a few other bars, so let it all happen again soon and we will be content.
Russell-the-rat-man was invited into our rat house again. It's not just dog-owners who look like their dogs by the way. This time he informed us that 98% of rats come through drains and man-holes. We are not sure why such a statistic wasn't mentioned a year ago to us. Anyway, the cameras were put down our main drains. In the process we found out that when our extension was built, they just covered the kitchen manhole with concrete - nice. We needed to get into this to complete the camera survey. So I took up 6 tiles without breaking them, removed a kitchen cupboard and smashed through 4 inches of concrete to reveal the manhole and a nice little rat route into our home and neighbours home. They get in from the main sewers via the drain into your home when builders do not block up the rodding pipe outlet properly. 
