The Smile of the Mortgage Gods
So up early to complete a few tweaks to the HIV piece. It was written in academic language for a specialist review, and was very clear one. When I was a student I was so reverential I thought I was stupid for finding academic language so hard to understand. Now I realise that much of it was simply poorly written. Gah. If only I knew then what I know now... One of the eternal laments of humanity.
Then off to the Laines to talk a man called Peter about carpets. I have selected - flawlessly (arf) - a durable and inoffensively biscuit-coloured one.
Decided to renegotiate my mortgage having conducted a displacement activity masterclass for the last few weeks. After half an hour I was delighted to be told that, contrary to all previous advice, I could keep my existing mortgage. This means that I won't be stung hundreds of pounds in rearrangement fees, and that I just have to purchase a permission to let agreement from them for £100 and I am in business.
I went for a dazed walk in the park afterwards, finding that fact that the Mortgage Gods had smiled down on me hard to process. Talked to Mum and Mas as I strode about in the windy park, and then returned home suddenly tired by the release of accumulated tension. The Cloud of Things That Must Be Done is thinning at last.
Lorraine late and working all night once she got home. I cooked. I worked on a few bits and pieces and went to bed, reading Coleridge's Frost at Midnight, a poem I love with its perfect opening line 'The Frost performs its secret ministry' with Calliope wedged under my chin periodically wiping her face on me, and Lorraine reading Lark Rise to Candleford.
So up early to complete a few tweaks to the HIV piece. It was written in academic language for a specialist review, and was very clear one. When I was a student I was so reverential I thought I was stupid for finding academic language so hard to understand. Now I realise that much of it was simply poorly written. Gah. If only I knew then what I know now... One of the eternal laments of humanity.
Then off to the Laines to talk a man called Peter about carpets. I have selected - flawlessly (arf) - a durable and inoffensively biscuit-coloured one.
Decided to renegotiate my mortgage having conducted a displacement activity masterclass for the last few weeks. After half an hour I was delighted to be told that, contrary to all previous advice, I could keep my existing mortgage. This means that I won't be stung hundreds of pounds in rearrangement fees, and that I just have to purchase a permission to let agreement from them for £100 and I am in business.
I went for a dazed walk in the park afterwards, finding that fact that the Mortgage Gods had smiled down on me hard to process. Talked to Mum and Mas as I strode about in the windy park, and then returned home suddenly tired by the release of accumulated tension. The Cloud of Things That Must Be Done is thinning at last.
Lorraine late and working all night once she got home. I cooked. I worked on a few bits and pieces and went to bed, reading Coleridge's Frost at Midnight, a poem I love with its perfect opening line 'The Frost performs its secret ministry' with Calliope wedged under my chin periodically wiping her face on me, and Lorraine reading Lark Rise to Candleford.
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