Isn’t kerfuffle a wonderful word? When I’m not having dramas, I am almost certainly caught up in some kind of kerfuffle, the kind of thing that can occasionally escalate in to a calamity, but more often than not causes nothing more than a minor commotion or diddly inconvenience.
Life is abundant with potential for kerfuffle in my house. Take last week. In his continued effort to persuade me to buy him an XBox One to replace the XBox 360 he already owns, Finley said that he would happily forgo the Sky Television I have long paid for and seeing this as a huge stride towards maturity, I promptly hopped on-line and cancelled my subscription. Which was quite frankly a bonkers idea because before I knew it not only was access to all our channels restricted but the broadband and the phone were also switched off.
Still reeling from the hour long conversation it took to persuade said television company to re-instate me, and finally having to agree to pretend to be a brand new customer and not one of the fifteen years I have actually been paying them, (due to complications caused by a certain very badly behaved ex-partner), I came off the phone vaguely happier, but still not in possession of working WiFi until the 2nd of June. This then could be considered a self-inflicted kerfuffle.
And then there was Friday night. In an effort to impress my walking in the woods man, I decided to cook him a simple rustic meal of sausage harissa that the domestic goddess who is my sister frequently delivers to the table. I rushed about making the house sparkly and myself vaguely presentable, then assembled the ingredients in a roasting tray (peppers, red onions, little potatoes, sausages, bacon lardons and a jar of harissa) before popping it in the oven before he arrived. and arrive he did, and I sat on the sofa beaming at him and quite forgot to feed him until the smell of charred sausage drifted in to the living room and I had no choice but to serve it slightly black and beam at him even more when he declared it delicious even as it must have been cracking his teeth. This then has to be considered the kind of kerfuffle caused by a third-party because clearly it was his fault I lost my concentration.
And finally there is Finn. Spirited away by my Dad to sample the delights of a crocodile zoo during a stay at Helen’s house, my very own pair of happy wanderers were due back on Northern shores last night, but after a kerfuffle of the gluten kind, my little Coeliac found himself vomiting and quite unable to manage the delights of a three-hour train journey, and thus remains stranded, probably to his delight, in Oxford. Life, you see is one long kerfuffle after another.
But every cloud has a silver lining m’dears. Sky offered me a Samsung Galaxy Tab in compensation for my troubles, the walking in the woods man can only now be thoroughly delighted by all efforts that come out of my kitchen un-frazzled, and an extra night without Finn meant one lovely, long, early night in bed watching Adore (mesmerizing), sipping chamomile and smiling at my own ceiling.
Nothing like a bit of kerfuffle to have you counting your chickens.