There’s a hole in my bucket

Friday January 21, 2005

“There’s nothing in my head to write about,” I said. “Not even random noise.”

“Do some pictures, then.”

“Haven’t got any.”

“You got a camera. What more do you want?”

“Ah. But. There’s a hole in my bucket.”

“Yer wot?”

“Sorry. You had to be there.”

“Well, let that be a lesson to you,” he said, not to be beaten.

“You’re quite right.”

So I grabbed my pencam and set off on a small tour of the house, at about 7:30 this evening, walking from one lamp-lit place to another, shooting almost but not quite at random And taking no care over exposure or light levels. Just snapping.

What more is needed for a journal entry, apart from a leaky bucket and the appalling nerve necessary to show the results to the world?

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Tiffany and friend


First pool of light was from a Tiffany-style lamp, bought from the Christopher Wray Lighting Co. when we were living in Somerset. The friend is an intriguing ceramic we acquired an awful lot of years ago, in Horley, Surrey, if memory serves. Currently they both sit on the old oak dresser that’s in the dining room.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Still life, kitchen

From thence to the kitchen, where a pack of decorator’s filler caught my eye. It doesn’t live here normally, just while Graham’s decorating the hallway, laundry room and bathroom.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Painting the ceiling

Graham, in the bathroom, which is having its ceiling and woodwork painted.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Dolly with friend

Dolly, with teddy bear friend, hiding on the bed, away from the decorations.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Washer with friend

Laundry room, a work in progress but functional all the same.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Old friends

A corner of the living room, with an old lamp on an old table, glowing quietly and harmoniously, as old things do.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Spare room bookcase

A bookcase in one of the spare bedrooms, festooned with Graham’s favourite chilli lamps.

Stickford Jan 21,'04
Disappointing cooker

On my way back to my computer in the study the old cooker caught my eye. Better record it now—it’ll be down the recycling yard next week. I shall not miss it. It was a disappointment when we moved in and it hasn’t once failed to live down to that first impression.

And that does it for a low-quality, devil-may-care photo trip around the little house by the fens. Sadly, there’s still a hole in my bucket.

There is of course some reason hiding behind my madness. Sitting quietly this morning, thinking about nothing in particular, I became conscious that we may not be living here very much longer. In quite a short time we could be packing up and moving on to the new adventure. And this will all be a memory, one that’s liable to fade quite quickly if my memories of the last place are anything to go by.

So a collection of snapshots of the house inside and out, along with a few of my local haunts, seems worth while before it all sinks away. There’s no particular reason to remember this, nor to forget it. But we have been happy here, still are, in a quiet, rather boring way, and I’d like to have good memories of it just in case, at some time in the future, I want to play the ‘I remember’ game.


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