MOVE OVER, MIDSUMMER MURDERS, YOU AINT GOT NOTHING ON US

​​   Good morning dear reader and welcome to a slightly misty morning at Chez Comb. I am delighted to be misty - well, not me but my garden, the more moisture the better. I know I will complain when it is hurling it down with rain in the winter, but I am very grateful for the intermittent drops we have had this week.

   We spent a few days in Teesside this week, visiting old friends and old haunts. It was a lovely trip, but as ever in our lives, not without incident; funny and not so funny.

   The main reason for our few days away was to spend time with our friend Andrew. He leads a full and busy life fitting in lots of voluntary work in spite of his spina bifida. But, he has been on enforced bed rest for over a year now, to allow a deep ulcerated wound on his back to slowly heal. And it's a very slow process. Andrew has been amazingly forebearing as his life suddenly ground to a halt, but even his patience is wearing thin now. So, believe it or not, dear reader, we thought a visit from our good selves might alleviate his boredom and even cheer him up a bit. We had a lovely time and it was all too short. We'll be going back again soon with new strings for his guitar and hope between us that we will  raise the roof with live music and song.

   Spouse and I had a little trip down memory lane in the late afternoon and visited our old special places and country walks. We arrived back at Ann's house, (Andrew's Mum), hungry as hunters and ready to make our choices from the Chinese takeaway menu. Job done and we all trooped off to Andrew's small bungalow to have dinner with him. And then, Ann discovered she had left her handbag at home - with the takeaway orders in it and the money!! As home was only a short walk away, Spouse volunteered to go and collect it for her. His offer was gratefully accepted and off he went. Never, never, my dear reader, in all our years of marriage have I ever managed to get Spouse to even momentarily hold my bag for me, but for this lovely lady he happily strode through the streets clutching a strappy white handbag to his manly bosom. Ha ha, and wouldn't you know it, he met someone he knew!  'Didn't think that was your style lad,'  said the gent.   'It's not mine,' says Spouse. 'My friend, Ann, left it at home.'  The acquaintance grinned broadly. 'Aye, that'll be right lad,' and walked on. I think, dear reader, that's the first and last time Spouse will ever carry a bag.

    After a lot of eating, drinking and talking we were late to bed and I anticipated a little lie in as there was no hurry to rush away the next day. Sadly it was not to be. if you don't like gory descriptions look away now, my dear reader, it gets a bit grim. It was a beautifully sunny summer morning; Spouse was sleeping peacefully beside me and I was half-awake. I was busy designing a garden in my head and gorgeous images of lush rolling lawns and flower-filled borders floated past my closed eyes. Don't ask me where this amazing garden was going to be as the ideas were swiftly driven out of my head. 

   As I mentally pottered around my Garden of Eden, Spouse stirred and I sensed him turning towards me. Reluctant to let go of my beautiful garden, I kept my eyes closed. Big mistake. When I opened them, Spouse was looking over me, smiling his happy morning smile - and drenched in blood; not only that, but spilling blood all over me too ... and the sheet ... and the pillows...

   'Oh my God,' I shrieked, 'what's going on?'  For a moment Spouse looked puzzled and then he saw the blood spilling over himself and on to me. He put his hands up to his face and they came away covered in blood. Both of us leapt out of bed, blood spattering everywhere and on to everything. 'I think my nose is bleeding,' says Spouse, grabbing a flannel and rushing off to the bathroom.  

   Honestly, dear reader, I don't think I've every seen as much blood on the set of a Midsummer Murder programme. I know Spouse has got round about ten pints to keep him going, but I reckon about three of them were spattered about the room, all over me and trailing out to the bathroom.  I ventured out on to the landing on my way to see if Spouse was still alive and met up with Ann. Well, you can imagine, can't you? Your house guest emerging from her room covered in blood, raises a smidgen of alarm in the calmest of breasts. And alarmed Ann most certainly was.  'What's happened?' she asked.  Looking at her upset and bloodstained guest, I fear she was not actually looking forward to the answer. I hastened to reassure her that no-one had died. Oh, the look of relief on her face. 'Well, it looks like a scene from 'Midsummer Murders,' she said and peering through the open door to our room, she questioned my statement. 'Are you sure ... where is he ... Is he alright?'

   Thankfully, just then, Spouse emerged from the bathroom, still bloodstained but cleaned up a bit and very much alive. The nosebleed had stopped and he still had a few more pints of blood keeping him going. If it had been a Midsummer Murder, a forensic scientist would have had a field day in that room, never mind a paper trail ... follow the blood!

   Spouse was despatched to sit in the fresh air of the cool summer morning and we cleaned things up and laundry was done. Mercifully all was well and no trace of the incident remained afterwards, but I think it will be a long time before the bloody images and memories fade. It may be safer to sleep in the summer house next time we visit - come to think of it, I adored doing that as a child! Spouse appears to be fit and well once more and is as busy as ever about his projects. Let's hope it stays that way.

   Good luck to our wonderful England team tonight. We are keeping everything crossed for their success and hope we will all be celebrating long into the night. My very best wishes to you, dear reader and have a great week.