Top to toe
Lorraine full of purpose this morning, and we marched about the house doing things, such as replacing the existing cat flap with our one, which reads the cat's chips allowing only them into the house. This becoming a necessity as the bruiser of a Ginger Tom that squats like a malevolent garden Buddha under the laurel bush at the end of the garden, has infiltrated a couple of times making our cats exceedingly nervous.
Betty having a duvet day today, but this did not prevent us bursting into Betty's room brandishing a rubber glove and a spanner to try to shift the radiator control. I at least managed to turn the radiator on. Lorraine sorting out curtains, and later ordering plants. We then did a top to toe survey of our house starting in the dungeon, and discussing what needs improving, and how we see the rooms evolving in the next few months. Lorraine began a new red notebook too. We were contrasting this with last two years of house move limbo. A much more exciting state of affairs.
I read again Pascale Petit's book of poems The Huntress, a mythologised, psychological account of an archetypically terrifying mother, full of Mexican legends and imagery. She writes how I'd love to be able to write, and her themes and preoccupations are fascinating to me.
The human dynamo that is Lorraine then cooked a beautiful roast supper, and I rounded off my weekend watching Match of the Day, including a clip of Chelsea slotting five goals past Swansea, and their chief rivals this year Manchester City being beaten.
Betty having a duvet day today, but this did not prevent us bursting into Betty's room brandishing a rubber glove and a spanner to try to shift the radiator control. I at least managed to turn the radiator on. Lorraine sorting out curtains, and later ordering plants. We then did a top to toe survey of our house starting in the dungeon, and discussing what needs improving, and how we see the rooms evolving in the next few months. Lorraine began a new red notebook too. We were contrasting this with last two years of house move limbo. A much more exciting state of affairs.
I read again Pascale Petit's book of poems The Huntress, a mythologised, psychological account of an archetypically terrifying mother, full of Mexican legends and imagery. She writes how I'd love to be able to write, and her themes and preoccupations are fascinating to me.
The human dynamo that is Lorraine then cooked a beautiful roast supper, and I rounded off my weekend watching Match of the Day, including a clip of Chelsea slotting five goals past Swansea, and their chief rivals this year Manchester City being beaten.
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