I'm skating on thin ice, as J has already said he doesn't want to be a figure of fun in my blog, but I have to recount the story of what happened to the holy water today.
Now his mum Marie, who sadly died a few months ago, gave us a bottle of holy water in January after we were burgled and told me I should sprinkle it in the corners of the house. Being brought up a Methodist, I am not au fait with the doings of holy water, hail Marys or trips to Lourdes, but willing to learn.
Anyway, conscious that the pad was about to be redecorated, I left the HW (in an unprepossessing plastic water bottle) on the window sill, intending to sprinkle it when the smell of new paint was in the air.
I noticed this morning it was missing from the window sill.
There it was, empty, next to J's bottle of vitamin pills.
He had glugged it down with his glucosamine.
He tried to brazen it out at first saying the water had evaporated, but then came clean and was fairly distraught - "who knows what's in that water?".
I was more distraught about Marie's legacy but J then pointed out a couple of drops in the bottle "and there would be no harm in topping it up from the tap, it won't alter the net result". I can see Marie rolling her eyes.
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