No one wants the chicken that the bat sat on.

A bat flew into our house last night. A little one; brown and furry and very cute. Except for the fact that it flew straight into the kitchen and sat on an open dish of chicken that I had just taken out of the oven. I quickly threw a towel over it and took it outside where it flew off into the night.

 I wonder what it thought of my cooking?

Anyway, having spent all that time on preparing dinner, I seriously considered not telling anyone about the bat on the chicken. Seriously … for at least a few minutes … and then decided to be a responsible adult and tell the truth. After all, cute as they are, bats are known to carry a few nasties around with them.  Damn …

We ordered pizza.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

I’ve recently discovered poetry. That might be slightly odd for someone who needs reading like she needs breathing, but what can I say? Things come on your path when it has to.

One of the intriguing things about poetry is that the reader is left to make her own deductions regarding the poet’s meaning and I’ve had some fun with that. Here is an extract from a longer poem by Sir Walter Scott (1771 – 1832) which is a perfect example:

Yet Clare’s sharp questions must I shun
Must separate Constance from the nun
Oh! what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive!
A Palmer too! No wonder why
I felt rebuked beneath his eye

My translation:

There is a lot of bullshit floating around. Don’t get caught up in it.