Month: January 2021

In the lead up to Xmas last year, Kit and I decided we’d had enough of wrapping paper. Earlier, I had described the lifecycle of paper to Kit. He was horrified to discover human priorities where tree-use is concerned. First, we acknowledged the social importance of gift wrapping (absolutely imperative if you don’t wish to become a social outcast, according to Kit, who would much prefer to be a social incast). Apparently, much lower on the priority list is maintaining a sufficient number of trees to photosynthesize, thereby renewing our oxygen supply. The pervasive opinion seems to be that chopping down trees is of little consequence. Kit suggested that this was a trifle odd. Only he didn’t say that. He said something a trifle more descriptive.

So, there remained a problem. How could we save some trees whilst presenting our presents presentably? Kit and I decided to solve the problem. First, we set out to buy some Christmassy print fabric and ribbon. Kit was quite overwhelmed at the big store and got a bit overexcited. Thanks to my timely interruption of his antics, and apologies to the staff, he managed not to make any enemies (at least not permanently). I distracted him by asking him to ‘help’ me carry our supplies. His assistance made little difference to me. He may he have been carrying a spool of ribbon, but I was carrying him!

Once we got home, I unpacked the sewing machine, or ‘sewer’ as Kit calls it. I have never corrected him. It’s only the written word that poses a problem. Kit helped me measure out and cut the fabric. The print on the fabric was of platypuses in Xmas hats. At first he didn’t like the idea of cutting through any of the platypuses. Fortunately, I managed to talk him round, and left him cutting ribbon, while I got down to business sewing little gift bags.

A few hours later we had all we needed to wrap our Xmas presents. A dozen pretty gift bags that can be reused, and even washed and ironed to keep them fresh. Our sense of accomplishment was quickly followed by deflation as we realized we now had to actually do our Xmas shopping. But we’d had enough for one day. While I went to make dinner, Kit settled down with his coloured pencils to draw platypuses sawn in half with their innards hanging out.

Recently I was telling a friend that, although I am in my forties, I don’t use a regular moisturiser, just rosehip oil.

Kit interjected, somewhat indignantly, “Yes you do!”

“What are you talking about?”  I asked.

“What about that Dynamic Lifter stuff in that bottle you keep in the bathroom? It sounds like a sort of facelift in a bottle to me,” he reasoned.

“Not unless you’re a plant,” I replied, laughing, “It’s for Spike Milligan” (my cactus).

Kit gave me a long hard look and said, “Plants don’t have faces,” in a tone generally reserved for toddlers and the criminally insane (and I have it on good authority that the only difference between those two categories of people is age).

“It’s actually plant food,” I explained.

“Then why are you rubbing it into your face?!” he exclaimed, adding, “It smells like shit!”

“That’s because it has manure in it,” I admitted, “That’s why I keep it in the bathroom. And I don’t rub it on my face. Whatever made you think that?”

“It’s in the bathroom, where you do all that secret women’s business! But more to the point, now you’re telling me that despite not having faces, let alone mouths, plants actually eat. And what they actually eat is shit? How exactly do they do that?”

“Well, yes, they seem to like manure, among other things. Compost is good too. They eat by sucking the nutrients out of the dirt through tubes in their stems or trunks called xylem. Like sucking a milkshake up through a straw.”

“The food must be pretty runny to go up a straw,” Kit speculated, “And if it’s mostly shit (even worse than your termite patties haha!) that basically means that  they eat by sucking diarrhoea up through a big straw.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“The world’s gone mad,” he muttered and, without a hint of irony, informed us that he was off to investigate the culinary potential of the local invertebrate population.

This morning Kit went out to the balcony to test the weather. He came flying straight back in again. Literally.

“I am not in Chicago, and I am not in Windy Wellington,” he huffed, getting back to his feet, “And Mother Nature would do well to remember that!”

This last week, the weather has been a bit blustery, and it has been getting on his nerves no end. So, to make the best of it, we made a kite, and walked to the park to fly it.

Kit noticed the speed sign in the image below. It seemed to require a speed limit of 0km per hour. We agreed that it seemed a bit unreasonable, being as it was, on a path.

“And the whole point of paths and roads,” said Kit, “Is for you to move along them. Obviously, I am excluding the Kwinana Freeway between three and six pm. During rush hour, its purposes seem to be to get you sunburned on your right arm, and make you wish you’d gone to the loo before you left work.”

“Even Spike Milligan [my cactus] can go faster than that,” Kit exclaimed.

“Since Spike Milligan is on the balcony, firmly planted in a pot that is not going anywhere, I strongly suspect that 0km per hour is his top speed,” I countered.

“But actually, you do move him sometimes to be closer to the sun,” Kit argued, “So even if it averages out to a really slow speed, it’s still not completely stationary.” He looked smug.

“Well bugger me! I do believe you’re right for once,” I conceded.

“Once?!” he squeaked, “That’s at least the second time since breakfast.”

“Sure,” I muttered under my breath, “If you mean breakfast on the third Tuesday of last January.”

Fortunately, he didn’t hear.

As we were getting ready to go (rather reluctantly on Kit’s part) he suddenly piped up, “Actually, you can’t take me home. We might get arrested!”

“What have you done now?” I asked with trepidation.

“Nothing, but the speed limit is 0km per hour. So, if we leave, we’ll be breaking the speed limit, which is breaking the law,” he said hopefully.

“You don’t actually get arrested for speeding,” I explained.

“Oh,” he looked crestfallen.

“You just get a fine. And here is a list of things I am more worried about than getting that fine: Coming in at Number Three: Plastic pollution. Two: Climate change. And Number One: Telling a certain meerkat that we really must go home now!

Kit fully justified worry Number One as I dragged him home biting and squeaking.