What happened next?
Did he appear on the staircase with a halo round his head and his uniform on saying 'ma ma, ma ma, I am frightfully pleased to announce that I am now correctly attired'?
Did he hell.
This is what happened next.
The door went and I opened to find Mr Squirrel standing there looking confused. (If you are unaware of Mr Squirrel then please see here: Background history of Mr Squirrel) Mr Squirrel always looks confused and he always mumbles and lo and behold he started mumbling about his bloody fence. The fence that it took him an entire summer to paint using a brush smaller than a toothbrush (oh how I wanted to just end his pain and leave him one of those Cuprinol spray gun things that sort of jet wash the paint onto the fence).
The conversation went something like this:
Mr S: 'oohhh you're in!'.
Me: 'Yup, I am!' (talk about stating the obvious. It was tempting to say 'NOOOO this is actually an apparition brought on by inhaling too much Cuprinol but he would probably have mistaken my sarcasm for reality so I left it).
Mr S: 'It's about my fsss mmmmm shhhh' (sound of static utters forth from his lips).
Me: 'Your what?' (for a horrible moment I feared he'd discovered the internet and been googling in this direction....)
Mr S: 'Fence'.
Me: 'Oh right!' (thinking 'oh holy hell - what have the kids done to it and how much is it going to cost....).
Mr S: 'Erm yes, it was a cold winter and fsssss mmmm ssssswwww'.
Me: 'Yes very cold' (what the hell?).
Mr S: 'So if you see them could I have them back?'.
Me: 'Have what back?'.
Mr S: 'The bits of trellis that dropped off in the front and have fallen into your side of the garden'.
Me: 'Erm, yeah, sure, I'll have a look but I can't remember ever seeing them' (er those will be the two spindly bits of wood I found on top of the rabbit hutch about 2 months ago and wondering what the hell they were, threw into the garden waste bin).
Mr S: 'Yes it's very important I get them back you see, because as my eye follows the line of the fence along it really picks up on those little holes' (not to mention how long it would take him to repaint those little rods).
Me: 'Err right, yes'.
At that moment something appears on the staircase behind me:
'MUMMY?' WHO IS IT?'.
We see a small boy who has (at least) started to try and get dressed.
He's got about a half way there. The bit where you take all your clothes off but haven't started putting any on.
With his willy wafting in the breeze he smiled and turning to his younger brother said:
'Don't worry, it's just Mr Squirrel'.
I flashed Mr Squirrel my best smile, told him I would search for his missing sticks 'ever so hard' and closing the door reflected on the fact that I have never been so happy we are moving.