Anyway I digress. As D-day, (or should that be M-day), is rapidly approaching I have called in the packing fairies again. So as they got their backs into it, with much encouragement from me,
"Come on you scurvy dogs, aha, ye motley landlubbers,"
I don't normally talk to them like this but Bizziebot, grandchild #1 is on a Pirate theme at the moment so we are all walking around with tea towels on our heads and eye patches, with wooden spoons stuck through our belts. (By the way the dough hook from a Kenwood Chef makes an exceedingly good false hand, it's not bad at dough either, funnily enough).
So with the maze coming along nicely and the 'crew' getting stuck in it looked like we were onto a real winner. Then the doorbell rang. As I headed toward it my wooden spoon slipped out of my belt, tripping me up and sending me hurtling towards the door, (you'll be pleased to know that it broke my fall). As I lay there momentarily stunned, the letter box lifted up and a pair of bemused eyes peered through.
"Sorry to bother you, are you number 3?"
"No," I whimpered, "that's next door."
"Ah jolly good, sorry to have bothered you madam."
I now have a lump the size of an egg on my forehead, a stinking headache, and Bizzie thinks her Grandma is great because she can fly just like Peter Pan. Yo ruddy ho ho!