And the score is Hornets 1, tidy room 0
PUBLISHED: 07:30 18 May 2018
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Do hornets sting? I’m not staying still enough to find out, writes Jo Malone
Why does altering one room somehow disrupt the whole house?
Our bathroom renovation is nearly finished. It’s taken a while, but work on old, damp, wonky cottages does take ages unless you’ve got a vast amount of money to throw at them. It means the contents of the original bathroom, including the linen cupboard, have taken over the house.
Number one daughter Sunny is back from nine months studying in Canada on Monday and her room has gathered the bathroom stuff plus pretty much everything that doesn’t have a home. There’s camping stuff, Thalia’s currently-out-of-favour cuddly toys, Keola’s last year’s school work, the ironing pile, about 300 pillowcases, our snow gear, a small marquee, pots of paint, a mirror, a lot of Lego, a heap of odd socks, a paraglider, Christmas paper, bubble wrap, our fairy lights, someone else’s fairy lights and enough sheets, duvets, duvet covers and towels to open a hotel.
I want it welcoming for her return but as I’m wandering about the house with a huge pile of sheets, trying to find somewhere to put them, I know it’s not going to be easy.
I pile them into our room for now.
The toys go back to what will one day be our dining room, the paraglider into Rob’s van and I’m hoping to squeeze everything else into the loft. I clamber up with a box of spare towels but I’m not up there for long; a socking great hornet has claimed the loft. Why do they sound like a Lancaster, why do they look so fierce and why do they always aim at my head? I fly down the ladder. Keola says ‘there’s something on your back’ and suddenly I’m down the stairs, out the door and in the garden, running and shrieking like a mad thing. I’m sure the beastie is going to get tangled in my hair, sting me until my throat closes and I’ll die.
Rob says he can’t see anything. I make him check my hair and shut the loft. I’m not going up there again.
Apparently they’re not as fierce as we think. But they sound mean, they definitely don’t like me and my Dad was wary of them; he wasn’t scared of anything so I’m sure they don’t sound like a bomber and fly at my face for nothing.
Maybe Sunny would feel more at home surrounded by spare linen and lights. Thalia almost volunteers to help sort the socks so we give ourselves that manageable job.
“Your hornet’s on the bush by the back door,” says Rob, as he comes in. I might never go outside again, but can I can hear some buzzing in the loft?
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