The Saga Of The Coedlings.

This morning's sky told a story of two halves, sunshine to the west and damp, grey clouds to the east. With no discernible wind it was anyone's guess as to how the day would turn out. Eventually the clouds took over and we had a dampish day.

Today's walk was a gentle riverside stroll that I've been on a few times before so I decided to devote the day to spring cleaning the sitting room instead.

But first let me entertain you with the Saga of the Coedlings.

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The Coedlings are a race of gentle creatures who live in a distant world unknown to humans. They are perfectly adapted to the low light conditions of their hidden dwelling place where they live in colonies where all are equal, tasks are shared and disagreements few. 

They live by the rule of 'Harm no living thing,' eating neither other creatures nor living plants. Instead they consume vegetation that has been discarded by plants and therefore not considered as living. Once the searing heat of the sun no longer turns the outside world into a place of danger inhabited by giant flying predators the adults venture through long tunnels  to gather food for the colony.

The youngsters remain safe behind in their dark world and often gather to listen to the old ones telling tales of distant places. Sometimes those stories are of a higher world which can be reached by climbing up through secret crevasses in the roof of their living space. Once through to that elevated paradise protected in some mysterious way from the burning sun there is food as far as the eye can see. What more could a coedling want?

In search of excitement the more adventurous of the youngsters find those hidden crevasses and disappear upwards. Often never to return though by some strange means a few are transported in a terrifying manner and find themselves in the outside world where if they are fortunate they will be discovered by the foraging parties.

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What you may be asking yourself is daft Ruta going on about? But the coedlings live under our home and are known to humans as woodlice. (coed - wood) Each night some climb up through the gaps in the floorboards and find themselves on the sweeping plain of our wood effect laminate flooring. What looked like a vast expanse of food is just an impenetrable surface and though the sun does not shine on them the air is dry and too warm. Death comes for most apart from the lucky few whom we spot, sweep up and deposit back outdoors.

This sad tale is how Pete and I explain the daily incursion by woodlice as we try and rescue any that are still alive.

While Pete was out coxing a row I hoovered, washed and polished in the sitting room. All the furniture was moved and the sad drifts of dead woodlice hoovered away. Out came the mould spray to deal with the small amount of mould around the French doors, which I don't mind and then there was the damp corner to deal with. (The reflection in the mirror shows where the paint has already been rubbed off.) 

This really annoys me as the builder who said he would try injecting a damp course from the outside still hasn't given us a date. No point in trying to get anyone else either because this is perfectly normal for Borth. Not only do I have to keep wiping the mould off the wall in that corner but the curtain is also damp and stained. As it is a white curtain I gave it a through spray with the mould stuff which is mainly bleach and tucked the soggy end into a mop bucket. There is no point in doing more until the wall is no longer damp. 

My deep emotional attachment to objects from my childhood includes this desk. I treasure this photo of myself aged 4 reading to my mother at the same desk that now gleams in our sitting room. (I'm pretty sure that's a Bryan Pierce painting on the wall.)