The Probert Road mice: events take a sinister turn

I wish I’d taken a picture what I’m about to describe but sadly I did not. Put it down to a combination of confusion, bewilderment and having to leave for work. There may be an opportunity to do so later, but I expect that the bizarre, macabre scene will have gone.

This morning after breakfast I looked out of the window at our garden. Think of a member of the duchy observing his land. A very lowly member of the duchy with a very small patch of land. And then realising that he doesn't actually own it after all, it's rented. My landlady is around this week and is doing some work on the house. Yesterday she had been doing some gardening and so I was having a peek at the heavily pruned bushes. I noted that the gigantic spiderweb with the massive spider in the middle of it had gone. Phew. She’s also been doing some work in the kitchen and has been rooting about behind the fridge in an attempt to try and draw an end to our mouse issues.

As I looked around the garden, my eyes fell onto the rusty wheelbarrow. More specifically, one of its handles. Lying on there was a dead mouse. That’s an odd place for a dead mouse. Then I noticed that there was something under the mouse. A post-it note. On the note was written ‘My new address is [something I can’t remember], Clapham. x’.

So that’s the handle of our wheelbarrow, with a post-it note on, and a mouse corpse on top of that. Not a normal morning frieze I think you’ll agree. I just stared at it for a bit, with several ideas swirling around my still not fully awoken mind: did a cat leave it there as a gift? Did Claire the landlady find it/kill it? But why leave it and not dispose of it? Is she messing with my head? Is someone else messing with my head? My housemate moved out at the weekend – but not to Clapham - could she be responsible? Could the mouse have climbed up there and died of natural causes? Or been poisoned and climbed up to die? I don’t think any poison has been left out in my house. Is it some weird satanic ritual? Brixton voodoo? What about the post-it note? Is this a threat from the mouse I removed last week [I recently caught and released a mouse using a humane trap] showing that it is not happy at being evicted from my house and has killed one of its brethren in order to show me that it’s coming for revenge? Who has moved to Clapham? Did the dead mouse leave the note and then somehow die immediately after completing it? If so, just think of the tiny milk bottles piling up outside the door?!

Tenuous mathematics mnemonic joke

This is the book I'm reading at the moment:





.....all very interesting, but 258 pages in and still no mention of trigonometry!?

F*ck Hoff!

As a kid, I LOVED Knight Rider. Would spend ages playing with my two pull-back-and-go 'K.I.T.T.'s (bonus points available for remembering what K.I.T.T. stands for without looking it up). Unlike most boys my age, I was never into Baywatch. But I'm baffled by the current rage for all things 'Hoff'. I just don't get it! This blog has been spurred by 3 events:

1. out for lunch just now I spotted a poster at London Bridge station advertising his forthcoming single 'Jump in my car'. It's not promoted as being David Hasslehoff, no, the poster says the new record is by 'The Hoff'.

2. during our recent adventures in New Zealand, we did a hike up a glacier. Our guide told us about a new route that he & his colleagues had hacked out of the ice the day before. The guides try to give the routes names so that they can explain to the other guides where they have been up the continually changing ice shelf. This latest path, we were proudly told, had been christened 'Don't hassle the Hoff'.

3. at the pub last week a team-mate got his phone out and eagerly showed a photo that he had recently taken on it. "It's the Hoff!" he said excitedly (he'd been signing books in London recently so my mate had got a pic).

I'm also regularly emailed with stuff like the picture above. There are hundreds of them! Just look on google.

At the risk of sounding a bit Victor Meldrew, I don't get it! What is it about him? Why has he suddenly achieved cult status? Why do otherwise sensible people bang on about 'The Hoff' as if he is the greatest thing in the world?

That aside, this pic is brilliant. Whatchoo talkin' 'bout Willis?

Who's reaching out to capture a moment? Everyone knows it's Windy

There’s more to Brixton than drug dealing, beggars and people wearing snakes on their head* you know. No, really. Several times I’ve told people about Brixton Windmill and they’ve gone, ‘yeah, the pub’. No, a real windmill. In fact, it’s the closest windmill to central London and it’s about time that Tombolablog doffed its cap.

Way back in March, Hackin and I went on an expedition to the windmill. I was going to write about it on here but the windmill was closed and there wasn’t much to see so I didn’t bother.

However, last weekend was Open House and Brixton Windmill was one of more than 600 participating buildings. Some facts:

• it was built in 1816 and was still a working mill in the 1930s
• it’s black because it was painted in tar to protect it from the weather
• it’s now a Grade II listed building.

Since January, I’ve become a dancer, knitter and amateur pest controller. To that list can now be added ‘Friend of Windmill Garden’.

* Last weekend I saw a guy with a snake on his head.

Graffiti my soul

Back in May, I wrote about the rather attractive toilet doors here at Guy’s hospital. Last week I was back in the toilet and some new – and let’s be honest here, fairly predictable - graffiti had been added. Nevertheless, it did make me chuckle and so I’m bringing it to you here:

Loose ends reunited

After tracking down the original toilet door entry, I indulged in a bout of harmless blog onanism, looking back at past entries (I must confess to being rather fond of my long-arms pic). So, I thought it might be appropriate to provide an update on some of the stories to have featured here in the opening eight months of Tombolablog…


Celebrity spotting
Then: notebook and instructions mysteriously posted by anonymous benefactor.

Now: An early flurry of sightings led to several entries. Pickings have, however, proved far from rich in recent months.


Bird feeder
Then: thriving, noisy food station for Brixton’s population of blue tits, great tits, goldfinches and robins

Now: grounded. Taken down by my housemate while I was on holiday. Brixton’s dirty pigeons overwhelmed our small garden and bullied us into submission by thrashing about outside my window every morning. A second attempt is being considered for later in the year…


Jive dancing
Then: Brave and courageous foray into self-improvement that earned me the respect and admiration of my peers.

Now: Beginners Level One completed, Level Two was set to begin this month. However, recent changes at South Pacific have left a question mark over the courses, and jive dancing at all, at that venue.


Chester
Then: inquisitive, shy rodent that kept himself to himself and left very few clues as to his presence.

Now: Openly flaunting widely-respected and commonly-held standards of communal-living etiquette. A new front has opened on the ‘war on terror’. The device suggested by Munch here has been purchased and should arrive later this week… Time to pack your bags, son.


Knitting
Then: Pioneering, boundary-smashing widening of horizons greeted with respect, warmth and approval by friends and colleagues.

Now: The scarf has grown slowly, but much further work is required before it can be used in the manner intended. Knitting club has not been attended since that successful initial visit, but this is largely due to holiday and work commitments.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the Willisest of them all?

Well, whaddya know, those lookalikes just refuse to cease. What's this, number 21?

Apologies for the weird photo water-mark type thing, but here's Jose Antonio Reyes, formerly of Arsenal:

In a while, crocodile

Upon switching on my phone this morning I received a message from my sister telling me that Steve Irwin had died and it was with genuine sadness that I switched on the radio and heard it being discussed (unlike Ak, who appears to have taken it much more readily in his stride).

One of the highlights of my recent holiday was being greeted by Steve as we descended into Sydney - he fronts their Customs and Quarantine info, as noted by Moon. After a mind-numbing 27 hour journey, there's nothing that perks you up quite like Steve leaping about telling you not to bring flowers into the country.

I can vividly remember the first time I saw him on TV. It was one of his documentray shows and he was legging it about with hyperactive enthusiasm as usual. A komodo dragon had a fishing line and hook caught in its mouth and Steve was attempting to help it by pulling it out. Understandably, this rather annoyed the huge beast and it ran at him, chasing him up a tree and slashing his boot in the process. During all of this, Irwin was manically shouting things like 'DANGER! DANGER! He's angry now!'. It was one of the most amazing, and funniest, things I'd ever seen and from that day on Irwin has been a bit of a hero of mine. So, as I said, it was with genuine sadness that I heard the news earlier. Rest in peace, Steve.

It's just a rumour that was spread around town

You know that small plaque-type adornment on the back of the Cutty Sark?

Look harder – that little blue and yellow one. Yeah, that one. Almost says Willis don’t it?

Moonpix

With blog inspiration running dry at the moment, I may as well continue to milk the holiday snaps: