Your arse in a glass is an expression my kids (James and Alana) inform me they did not know. Perhaps it does come from my youth, and a certain subsection of the South African population.
Still, it was true in the small hours of this morning. I awoke to the mysterious growls... of a bread-machine. At 5 AM in pitch darkness. I got up, and found the oldest - the one we brought from SA -was mysteriously mixing nothing. So I switched it off, thinking dark thoughts about electronic component decay. Went to the 'loo, and returned to hear a noise in a far corner of the kitchen. There, where Barbs puts the glassware to dry was the bread-machine ghost... with his arse in a glass. Well, a small possum his nether end in a big glass bowl. It being glass his little clawed feet were finding it hard going. I hastily removed the surrounding wall of glasses, before they got bust, grabbed a big plastic bowl (you remember how I was going on about the usefulness of bowls - Too right)and pushed it over Mr Arse-in-a-glass, trapping him against the wall, the way you might with a spider. I used a heavy bottle of sherry to anchor it in the vague hope it would not fall off and break if he made a bolt...
I seized the chance to grab a box, and baking tray (in the process making enough noise to wake Barbs)and slid the baking tray between him and the wall. Attempting to move the whole pair of bowls and the baking tray and possum to the box was interesting in the old Chinese curse sense. Inevitably it came unstuck, but more by luck than good judgement, I managed to shove the possum in the direction he thought was was escape, but was actually the box. In all of this, no glasses, no glass bowl, plastic large bowl, or baking sheet - or possum or even me, were injured - crossing the miracle thresh-hold
My now cross wife (she does not wake well) came and asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. Fortunately, the early morning nothing broken in the kitchen (they are clumsy and messy - both husbands and possums) one possum scheduled for moving somewhat further from the house, did, when she finally worked out what was going on, improve her natural tendency in the early morning to use cast-iron frying pan first and and argue later. This is just as well, because neither the possum nor I would live through the frying pan.
Enjoying having kids home, despite possums also wanting to enjoy them.
