Monday November 29, 2004
I’m getting to be really rather good at strutting my way around Boston, best foot forward, going as fast as I can. Today I made the Post Office, the bank, Marks & Spencers, Wilkinson’s and the art store in that order and in a great irregular circuit through the town and back again. Without needing to sit down, and without yielding to the temptation of a half-hour in Costa Coffee. And then I drove straight over to Tesco, picked up provisions, and came home again.
It may not sound interesting, or exciting, though I insist those are qualities you take with you rather than discover en route, but I’m gratified that my energy levels stayed high enough to carry out my chores and the pain levels low enough to enjoy them to the full.
Graham had stayed home, emptying out the living room, piling all the furniture in the centre of the room under dust sheets, and starting in on the long, tedious job of stripping wallpaper. The new steam stripper machine works well, and the resulting surface is clean, even, and will need very little attention before it’s covered with new, less strident wallpaper of our own choosing. The remainder of the house will need stripping, too, but we intend to line the walls with plain paper and paint them rather than apply new wallpaper. I’m not too keen on wallpaper, generally, and Graham prefers plain walls, too. We’re hoping the effect will be cool, calm and spacious. And the ker-ching of the till when the house sells will be all the more melodious and rewarding for it.
At least, that’s the plan.
Many a mickle maks a muckle, so irritating, aphorism-riddle people are wont to say.
I’m not sure what a muckle is, but I’m assured it’s something positive and desirable. And mickles don’t sound so bad, either, at least, not if you can make a muckle of them.