Life is Never Boring

By Rachel Gill

"My dear sister-in-law inquired when I intended to start my own blog, I replied that I was perfectly content to occasionally hijack her blog, and so, here I am ready to regale you with another action-packed, high-energy tale from my life. Which could probably be more accurately described as the dangers of an over-active imagination.

It was a Tuesday evening and I was home alone watching an old movie. I should probably explain that being home alone does not bother me, I do not jump at every creak or rattle of pipes and floorboards and imagine burglars coming in through the windows. In fact I'm actually more nervous when Geoff is staying with us. Why you may ask? Well dear reader, Geoff is not only a rose-buying, babysitting husband, he is also a brother. A brother who delights in scaring his little sister. When Geoff is staying in the house I check my room before I go to bed because more than likely, he is hiding somewhere waiting to jump out and scare the wits out of me. Husbands who merit posts like 'My husband rocks' can still be pesky big brothers. But I digress...

Half-way through the movie I realised that the cow shed had to be closed up, it was already dark outside and getting cool so I hit the pause button, donned my wellies and headed outside. Walking around outside in the dark doesn't cause me any worries and when I'm only going down the yard I rarely bother to put lights on or get a torch, Tuesday night was no exception to the norm and I happily meandered down the field in the dark. Suddenly instead of stepping on the solid ground, I stepped on something which insisted upon moving. My thoughts of Jane Austen heroine's, and the elegance and grace of former times were quickly dispelled as I found myself being pitched in the direction of the cold, hard ground. So much for grace and elegance! Grumbling, I reached for the offending object; it was a pitchfork. I wondered vaguely why my father would leave a pitchfork lying in the middle of the yard, and consolded myself with the knowledge that the only witnesses were the cows and they don't mind if I'm clumsy.

As I came closer to the shed I noticed something. A small, red glow. Much like a cigarette butt. Within half a minute I had formed the only logical explanation. Clearly, someone had been in our yard with the pitchfork while smoking. They had heard me coming, dropped the pitchfork, threw their cigarette down and were currently waiting around the side of the shed. But why would someone be in our yard having a smoke and weilding a pitchfork in the dark? It didn't make sense...unless the person was mad, you would have to be mad to do those things. That was it. The person was a lunatic. There was a nicotine deprived lunatic hiding round the side of our cow shed watching me!

Having formed that conclusion I was feeling quite nervous. What should I do? Should I march around the side of the barn and demand to know just what they thought they were doing playing with pitchforks in my yard? Dander round, comment on the pleasantness of the evening and offer them a cigarette...no that wouldn't work, I didn't have any cigarettes and I don't really approve of smoking. Maybe I should run as quickly as I could to the house, lock the doors and barricade myself in a room with a poker? No that wouldn't work either, after all, I was being watched by the madman, I didn't want him to know that I was scared. Besides, the shed still needed to be closed up. So I closed up the shed and walked, perhaps a little quicker than usual, up to the greenhouse - which also needed to be closed up. Before I went in I checked that there was no key in the door - I didn't want the crazy man to lock me up with the seedlings and spiders while he went off to play with a pitchfork. Jobs done, I hurried up to the house with my dog, locked the door - realised that the crazy man might be in the house and I had quite possibly locked myself up with a psychopath - I checked all the rooms downstairs and decided that I was probably the only crazy person in the area. I put the dog out, made a pot of tea and sat down to my movie. Buttons (my pint sized dog) kept barking at something, but I had realised a flaw in my theory (I know, it seemed so fool-proof) I didn't know of any lunatic asylums. There certainly weren't any in Killinchy. I rolled my eyes at my own silliness and determined to forget about it.

Dad got home late that night and asked if the barn was closed up, I replied that it was and neglected to mention my theory on the smoking mad man. Until dad commented on the cigarette butts he had seen lying around the shed. That was all the encouragement I needed to tell him my theory. 'So...a lunatic was smoking in our yard?'. He was skeptical. 'Well dad, they'd have to be a bit crazy to play with a pitchfork in the dark. It's just not the done thing' I reasoned. 'Right. You see, I thought the cigarette butts were probably from one of the workmen. You probably saw the embers of a fire I had going earlier.' 'You had a fire going earlier? Oh.'

We still have no idea how the pitchfork ended up in the middle of the yard - my lovely sisters sympathise with the idea that maybe someone was lurking around the place. I think I prefer the idea that I have an over-active imagination - either way, I'll be doing my work in daylight this week!"