Well, it happened like this…
Mr Turley forbade me from doing any more blogging until the house was spick and span and I’d completed all my charitable deeds for the boys' sports clubs. So by last night I was wild, livid, and prepared finally to throw the tea towel in. I could stand no more drudgery and so I planned a cunning escape. Having failed with the tunnel, I decided to take the more conniving route of escape... Through the front door in the early hours (Mr Turley would never expect such blatant audacity) and Mr Turley who sleeps like an elephant (and makes a similar sound too) would not hear me and I would slip quietly away into the night…
And so I packed my handbag with all the necessary items I needed to start a new life:
1. Mr Turley’s credit card. (Also his cheque book, savings account, current account card and the loose change he keeps by the side of the bed.)
2. A kilo of chocolate. (It’s a large handbag)
3. Clean knickers. (Essential for any woman who’s had a child)
4. Spare clean knickers (Essential for any woman who’s had three children.)
5.Lipstick. (Just in case I ran into Pierce again, I needed to look my best.)
6.Tissues. (So I can wipe around the toilet seat of any public convenience that does not have sufficient squatting room.)
7. A small pen knife which has my emergency tin opener on it. (Vital for impromptu meals.)
8. A can of baked beans. (For the emergency meal.)
9. A map of The Outer Hebrides and a one-way ticket to said place (and also a map of Pierce Brosnan’s house just in case I decided to stalk him.)
10. A wind up two-way radio so I can keep in contact with the outside world in case of nuclear war.
And so at 12.45 am I tiptoed out of the house. I decided not to take the car in case anyone should hear and I also took the precaution of puncturing Mr Turley’s tyres with my penknife so he could not pursue me... and then I headed off into the night.
At first, I walked. Then I trotted...and then feeling the breeze on my face and the sense of freedom I broke into a run… my pulse was racing, my heart pounding… I could hear the music of the theme tune to The Six Million Dollar Man in my head as I gradually ran faster and faster. My imagination took flight…
♫♫♫ Der, der, der derrrr…Der, der, der, der, der, der, derrrrrrrrrrr ♪♫♫
“Mrs Turley, housewife. A woman barely alive. Ladies, we can rebuild her. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world’s first Bionic Housewife. Mrs Turley will be that housewife. Better than she was before. Better. Stronger. Faster.
♫♪♫ Der, der, der, derrrrrrr…Der, der, der, der, der, der, derrrrrrrrrrrrrrr ♫♫♪♫
And so I ran on and on and on… until I reached a stile and as I made a daring leap over it… the earth began to shake, the trees tremble, I began to sway from side to side and then suddenly… I landed flat on my stomach with my face in a cowpat. The ground continued shaking.
What was happening? Had I lost my senses? Had I gained more weight over Christmas than I dared imagine?
Eventually, I wearily raised my head and to my amazement saw an array of black shiny boots.
“Mrs Turley, Housewife Extraordinaire?” A voice barked in the night.
“Ye…essss,” I replied fearfully.
“You are under arrest for the wilful damage of Her Majesty’s Lands."
“Your running, Mrs Turley, has caused the strongest earthquake in this country for 25 years.”
“It has?” I replied, suddenly anxious that I might be imprisoned in Her Majesty’s Tower and forced to watch endless reruns of Prince Charles’ wedding to Lady Diana Spencer. Worse, I might even have to watch The Duchess of Cornwall at Ascot. (Although I’m not sure which race she might have been taking part in.)
“5.2 on The Richter Scale, Mrs Turley. It was lucky you fell otherwise we might have had to call a national emergency.”
And so here I am - confined to my house under house arrest. Responsible for an earthquake and with nothing better to do than housework…. and blog...
On February 27 at approx 1am The UK experienced its largest earthquake for 25 years, registering 5.2 on the Richter Scale. Fortunately, there was no loss of life although structural damage is expected to run into millions of pounds. A woman in her forties has been placed under house arrest pending further enquiries into her weight problem.
© Jane Turley 2008
What a marvelous tale... :)ReplyDelete
I wonder what the Housewife Extraordinaire can do while plotting her next escape?
Don't you realise by making that earthquake that The Sun n...ne...newspa...so, I can't say it. I cannot lie. So some printed thing had some crap about 2 people having sex during the earthquake with the headline "Did the earth move for you". Fortunately I only know this as they showed it on Sky News. Not because I subject my tiny weeny brain to such things.ReplyDelete
Good to see you. I was gettin' worried that you had become stuck in the tunnel. Boy, you really had me caught up in your escape. I was jumping up and down in my chair, yelling, "Run, Jane, run"! I hope you didn't skin your nose in the fall.ReplyDelete
Hmm Tamera ..the tunnel may have been more interesting; even more so had I been accompanied by Charles Bronson but alas no I have been busy doing what a mother of three must do and now I have lots of reading and writing to catch up with...ReplyDelete
My nose is in a satisfacory condition which is more than can be said for other parts of the country..( By the way it's a bionic nose but unfortunately a substandard one as it continually fails to recognise the smell of burning sausages....)
Sy, no I don't read that thing either... though I rather fancy that such experiment you describe may have been an interesting experience!
Mewie. Hello! Hmm, I'm not sure what the next escape plan will be... my chains are even thicker at the moment and the ball is particularly heavy. It would be hard to make an outright dash for it again. And if I did I would have to be rugby tackled by those young men outside my door which would be much too much to bear.....
Now where's my nail file gone?
Are those young men outside cute? hmmmmm. Perhaps a touch of lipstick, and a wave of your white handkerchief, as you so very smoothly and accidentally drop it on the pavement. Then.....Run, Jane, Run!!!!ReplyDelete
I think for a woman it will be a lot more fun then for a man! But if you want to give it a go, Mrs H has family in South Africa. We can probably arrange it!ReplyDelete
Now. These chains you talk about. Are they Ann Summers? I will be able to tell you how to get out of them (should you need to. I dunno...what works really).
Well Janey girl, this is the right time to grab the mop and the broom and give the house a good rub down. And dont forget to watch Nigella Lawson on television during your chocolate breaks .ReplyDelete
Heard about the earthquake and wondered what JT Housewife Extraordinaire had to say about it. Didn't know ma'am that you were the cause for it! The final straw may have been you falling with the added weight of the chocolate in your bag??ReplyDelete
For the ball and chain, how about some lemon juice and salt (you could always add tequila) to rust it away?
Hmmm...Sue; lemon Juice and salt...well these are ingredients I do actually have in my cupboard (Although only because it was recently pancake day... although I never quite managed to make them on the actual day but three days later...) but it could be a long time before these thick chains dissolve by which time I would be too old to take advantage of those lovely young men. Still, worth a shot and I can get drunk in the meantime on the tequila..ReplyDelete
Tamera... first I've got to get outside onto the pavement where I will drop not only my handkerchief but possibly my (spare) knickers as well.... No wait... maybe that's not such a good idea... although that's given me a cunning escape idea... maybe a parachute?
Oh Sy... If only the chains were from Anne Summers then I would be happy to remain chained to the sink! Alas they're on loan from The Tower of London and are exceedlingly thick..
88% chocolate Onedia? That's a serious addiction!...'course I tend to go for quantity not quality and I'm afraid it shows...
A political speech writer? Now that's something I would love to do.. why I believe my fictional skills would be quite an asset!
How old is Lee Majors these days?Boy, he looked good in slow motion; I look good in slow motion too only mine's the real thing....
Eve's lungs..Oh no. no, no.. I am shortly to give up on the mop and bucket entirley as I am about to purchase some terry slippers as described by Tamera in her latest post; according to her they are highly absorbent; so I attend to use them for mopping up and then when they're dry to skate around them on the kitchen floor doing an impression of ( a grossly overweight) Jane Torvill.ReplyDelete
Nigella Lawson? Oh that woman makes my blood boil! To look so suggestively at vegatables is obscene! I keep trying it with my burnt sausages but I can't manage it. Maybe I should try deep frying them in chocolate...there's a thought...
Celebrity cooks... now don't start me off on those again Nigella makes me more mad than Gordon...Oh dear I'll have to add a further rant on that to my increasing backlog of blogs...
You nearly made me spill my mug of cocoa, I was laughing so much!ReplyDelete
The six million dollar man, Steve Austin....ah you've made a grown man happy bringing back such memories of childhood.
I do hope Mr T can find a local place with a special on new tyres after your penknife escapades!
You just have me giggling and laughing up a storm!
I SO enjoy your blog and look forward to visiting again!
...scary that I WAS SO visualizing the whole Bionic Housewife scenario!
Ah Floogie, I'm delighted you enjoyed my (failed) escape but 'tis cruel to laugh at a victim! Why, you naughty, naughty man! If I could reach I would have to punish you with my feather duster which is a vile instrument of torture of an unbelievably hideous nature....ReplyDelete
Hi Mikiye Creations! Thanks for dropping in! Glad your enjoying the stories of my miserable exsistence at the kitchen sink...though they are sad and woeful tales. It seems you may have an affinity to The Six Million Dollar Man too...I certainly do... I always do my housework in slow motion in honour of Steve Austin and I also move in slow motion in the bathroom (but that's because I've got at the constipation at the moment but ssh don't tell anyone I wouldn't want the whole world to know...)ReplyDelete
Constipation you say? Well why don't you just watch the omnibus edition of EastEnders this Sunday. That would be enough to make me enpty the contents of my bowel in utter boredom.ReplyDelete
so it was YOU who rocked the UK! you go girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!ReplyDelete
About the monkey arse thing. I wouldn't want to besmirch my blog with a pic of a bush monkey arse.
Your writing is brill, can you access the puter in the tunnel?
Yes, damn it; it was me! I should have kept my attempted escape a secret but no, I couldn't and now the whole world knows my heinous crime.ReplyDelete
Still, I'm hoping to hitch up with Lee Majors...
You're right... it would be vastly inappropiate to put Mr Bush's derriere on your blog. However you could manufacture a picturesque dartboard and have a little game at home....
Puter? As in writing instrument? Or large metal ball? The large metal ball is fixed to my leg and is so heavy I walk with one foot trailing permanently behind (bit like a British Athlete at The Olympics) My writing instrument is hidden down my super sized granny knickers so Mr Turley will not know that I always have access to it and secretly scribe about the sorry tales of my exsistence...
It is Mrs Turley's Birthday tomorrow..she will be playing all day!ReplyDelete
Oh, poor, poor, Mrs T! She tries her best but the (so far) inescapable duties of children and housework do bog her down at times. She has, however, decided to be exceedinlg naughty and not do an housework today...ReplyDelete