Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Sunday, 23 October 2016
Good things still happen
This title is a quote/predicition from Rachel, who is currently sunning herself in balmy Siberia, and she is right.
Every morning right now, I have a very strong urge to simply write-off the day by staying under the duvet, but I resist it. It is usually hunger which gets me out of bed, but then again it is usually hunger which gets us to do anything isn't it?
Just as there are two brief periods in the year when our butter will spread perfectly on bread when not straight out of the fridge in our compact but adorable city apartment, there are two brief periods when I am blinded by the light through the window as I try to type on this computer which is backed onto it. I think both times are something to do with the sun and the Earth's relationship to it, but I could be wrong.
Today's task is to go to Daughter's compact but adorable city apartment and feed the cats as she is in Cornwall. While I am there, I will take advantage of their washing-machine, because - believe it or not - we do not have one. Oh, don't ask, but if you must know, I have spent 26 years trying to convince H.I. that her room - being on the back - is the only viable place to site a washing machine and associated plumbing in this fucking compact but adorable city apartment, and she goes for the sparse, uncluttered look in her bedroom.
Yesterday's task was to repair a wooden browser for the 44AD Gallery which I hope you signed the petition for. I only discovered that they are called 'browsers' after I asked the gallery director if they had one of those things which you can put unframed sheets into so that people can leaf through them and hopefully choose one to buy. 'Browser' is a much more concise way of describing them, and she said that she also did not know what they were called until she had to buy one. I wonder what she typed into the search.
She said they had one, but it was a little damaged and in need of repair. This was an understatement. I really don't know what happened to it, but it looked as though a 20 stone man (or woman) had taken a 20-foot run-up to it and thrown themself on it, arse first.
I had to buy new hinges for it (they fold), make a new piece in hardwood, knock the joints together again and pin them where they had burst apart, reassemble it in the right position until it looked as though it ought to work, then the job was done. I will be a hero, just for one day.
When I had finished it, I thought that maybe it had been a good idea to get out of bed after all, and then I went to the pub.
A quick question - what is it with all these people who walk around in the street, drinking coffee from paper cups?