Stoopid things.....

For a few days now, a noxious odour has been emanating from the Grand Gasguzzler. Considering that it's little more than a dustbin on wheels at the best of times, noxious odours are not uncommon. But this was really noxious... stomach-churningly, dry-heavingly noxious.

"Vile smell in the Gasguzzler" commented the CH. Nothing gets past him you know!

No amount of window opening and letting the fresh air rush through seemed to help.

"Maybe it was something I'd driven through (or over) " I mused.

Eventually, I decided that there was nothing for it but to take a short trip to the Lavage and give the Gasguzzler a thorough going over.

The CH doesn't like me wasting money on the car wash when he thinks that I could just as easily wash the car in the driveway. As if....! Washing the car is only marginally less hideous than doing the ironing.

The Grand Gasguzzler is, of course, far too large to go through the automatic car wash so it has to be done in a jet wash. In a slight nod to his wish to economise, I've now got it down to a fine art and, like a whirling dervish, I can pre-wash, wash and rinse for about 3 euros. It's quite a good workout too as I have to do it at a run but I do also occasionally wash the person in the next bay in my hurry to get a pre-wash and wash out of a euro.

So, washed and worked out, I parked up by the vacuum cleaners to give the inside a good old clean. Now, I've been known to have so much crap on the floor of the car that I've actually burned out the motors on these industrial beasties in the past so I always park carefully betwixt two vacuums, just in case.

First job was to throw out all the accumulated rubbish and try to locate the noxious odour. The wash had done nothing to lessen it so everything was pointing to something inside the car.

I emptied out the boot, stacked up the 7 coats I found in the back, collected up assorted sweet wrappers and empty drink cans - soft drinks ladies, in case you were going to ask - and dumped them. But hang on..... what's that stuffed underneath the back seat?

Bloody hell..... it's DD's dead hen!

And then it all came flooding back.

Poor Rietta (Hen-Rietta. Get it? Oh never mind) shuffled this mortal coil several days ago, much to the distress of my poor sensitive child. Now, you can't flush a chicken down the loo and in a moment of weakness I promised DD that I would give Rietta a proper burial. All very well, but we live on ground so rocky that growing potatoes needs the services of a mini-digger. The chances of excavating a suitably large hole for Rietta were about as likely as, well, slim to say the least. I had visions of poor Rietta's little body dug up by foxes and other assorted vermin, not to mention Prudence the Golden non-retriever, who makes up for what she lacks in retrieving skills with her digging abilities. The Somme-like look of parts of the garden is testament to that.

Being the terrible mother I am, I made a grave-like thing in the flower bed with a little handmade cross and told (alright, lied to) DD that that was the lasting resting place of her lovely French hen.

Meanwhile, Rietta was rather unceremoniously chucked in a plastic bag (after a short eulogy of course) and stuffed under the back seat for disposal next time I drove past the bins.

Only trouble is... well, I've got a brain like a sieve at the best of times and, well, I .... sort of forgot.

So there was Rietta decomposing nicely in the back of the car and emitting some fairly foul (or should I say, fowl) odours. I have to admit this isn't a first for me. I was once given a brace of pheasants for my mother which I put in the boot of my old mini, only to find them a week later, crawling with maggots.

Still, there was nothing else for it, I picked up Rietta's putrid remains, slung them in the bins a drove off pretty sharpish.

Well come on, what's a girl to do?