This series of Posts from Your Archives is exclusively for blogs that are under a year old. It is an opportunity to meet new readers and to show off your writing skills.. All the details are in this post along with some tips on how to make your blog more reader friendly.
This is the second post from Peter Mohan who blogs at Cheers, Govanhill as his alter ego .. Boy David. I selected this post as we head into the late autumn and we get visitors both of the garden variety and field..Despite meticulous blocking of the smallest entry holes they persist in heading upward into the airing cupboard and leaping out at me when I am collecting the bed linen…
Footprints in the Butter – Cheers Govanhill.
Mice. Twice. Wee bastards.
Mice keep happening, in the kitchen, on the surfaces, on the floor, terrorising me.
I feel invaded, violated, also a bit bloated because I’m still carrying a little holiday weight right now.
Did they come through the ceiling? They’re like uninvited guests who drink all your bevvy and empty your fridge and just won’t leave.
Wee sleekit bastards.
What’s next, eating my porridge, sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes, turning up at work pretending to be me, doing a better job than me, getting a pay rise ahead of me?
Wee cowerin bastards.
So I asked Saint Google what to do. Old-fashioned traps with peanut butter are best. Nae luck, vegans.
Also read about a plug-in device which emits an excruciating noise for mice, a bit like listening to the Proclaimers at top volume. Or the Beatles.
Whoah, steady on. Only joking there. Not slagging off the Beatles. Course not. No way. Macca, John and that. Great bunch of lads. Really good at what they do.
Sorry, what was I talking about again?
Aye, mice. Wee bastards.
At least they’re not cockroaches.
©Peter Mohan 2019
About Peter Mohan
My name’s Peter Mohan, I live and work in Glasgow, Scotland.
Cheers, Govanhill is a semi-fictional blog from Glasgow’s most cosmopolitan and endlessly-fascinating neighbourhood.
It’s a humorous, sometimes dark, account of inner-city life by fictional narrator, Boy David.
He casts an affectionate, surreal eye on the area from his tenement, with stories of gentrification, brontosaurus cutlets, the filthy habits of west of Scotland dead man and how New York stole all its ideas from Govanhill.
It’s all true, although I might have made a lot of it up.
Connect to Peter
My thanks to Peter for allowing me to share some of his posts.. please head over and check out his archive.. thanks Sally.