Funny old world

Saturday November 20, 2004

To Spilsby this morning, to take the first of Graham’s two Palm PDAs to the post office. I’d not have gone out at all without the need for this particular errand but I’m so glad I did. It was a sparkling, sunny winter morning, fresh, tingly and delectable—just my kind of morning to be out and about. Very cold, yes, but the kind of cold that refreshes rather than petrifies. If you dress suitably, that is.

So, there I was, striding along, feeling really good with the day and with myself. As though gifted specially for the occasion, I’ve had a completely pain free day today but I suspect I’d have enjoyed being out in any case.

Then I caught another pedestrian’s eye and realized I was being grimaced at. ‘What the ****?‘ I wondered. Couldn’t be an indiscretion in the trouser-fastening area—there were two layers of coat in the way. So far as I knew I was clean, brushed and reasonably presentable. Quite presentable enough for a little country market town, anyway. What, then?

Do you know, I think it was because I was happy and smiling. Looking about me all I could see were folks all scrunched up against the cold, grim and miserable of visage, clearly not enjoying their outings. At all.

Hey ho. Not a lot I can do about other people’s wrong thinking, I’m afraid. I have enough of a job keeping myself on the straight and narrow. So, heaving an almost completely insincere sigh, I picked up my pace again and stode on, my walking-stick making a merry thunk-squelch-thunk as I went.

Funny old world, ennit?

Later, in the afternoon, home snug and sound, I somewhat tentatively got the pictures and text files ready to put three of my watercolour miniatures up for auction with my other stuff on eBay tomorrow. It’s been suggested that taking up my watercolour brushes and my miniature painting frame for my winter hobby this year would be a perfect solution for my restless, twiddling thumbs of an evening. I like the idea and shall do so regardless of the outcome of the auctions. Just as soon as Graham gets home and fetches my watercolour box down from the attic for me, that is.




 
For sale—trying out the market

I’m enjoying my eBaying, and shall keep it going. Gets me out of the house on a bright winter’s morning, anyway, and that can’t be bad.

 

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