Tuesday June 7, 2005
I’m quite ashamed of my whingeing session yesterday, complaining about my legs, because today I woke to find everything in fine working order. I should have learned by now to keep my mouth shut, reserve my complaints to myself, and wait patiently for a better day.
Anyway, we decided to celebrate not just my return to normal mobility but a lovely sunny summer’s day with a trip to Boston. Partly for business, but mainly for pleasure.
One of us had to call in on the estate agents to jolly them up a bit. Graham drew the short straw, so I wandered off to the Artstore to finger giant size pre-stretched canvases, luscious paints, and beautiful full Imperial sheets of heavy duty Bockingford watercolour paper. I’m still in urgent need of doing some big painting. Sadly, both canvasses and paper were beyond reach of my pocket money for the week, so I was all restrained and left the venture over for another visit. In the event I bought only a new drawing pen and a bottle of varnish.
Oh, but they have some wonderful paints there! Watercolours, pastels, acrylics, and oils as standard, of course. The display that had me drooling most, though, were some 500g jars of pre-mixed poster colours, in all the colours we used to use at art school back in the 1950s, when oils were too expensive for penurious students. Oh, boy but I was tempted.
I was good, though, and picked up just the two bits I’d come for, paid for them, and walked back out into the sunshine, to the bank, and then to Costa Coffee, where we’d arranged to meet for lunch.
The story from the estate agent was as we expected. Lots of interest in our house but all from folks waiting to sell their own. The market is at near stand-still. Buyers are coming through, but in very small numbers. Our house is regarded as being correctly priced, as well as desirable, so all we can do is sit back and wait patiently until someone fortunate enough to have broken through the log jam comes our way.
It isn’t just our agent. We’ve heard the same story from all over. It isn’t that we took too long over getting our house ready for market, either—we’d have had to put it up for sale almost a year ago to catch the crest of the buying wave. We didn’t decide to sell until quite a lot later than that.
There are buyers about. We know that. A house just down the lane that’s been on the market since before we moved here went under contract today and if there’s a buyer for that, there will be a buyer for ours.
It was too nice a day to feel bad about it, even if there were anything to be gained by a bit of injudicious panic and alarm. Graham went off to HMV to see if there were any goodies to be had on special offer, and I sat outside in the sun for a bit of people watching, and careful pencam beeping. I got several quite decent shots, and there would have been more if I hadn’t fumbled one of the controls at around frame nine of twenty, rendering all the remainder impossible to retrieve when we got home and plugged the camera into the computer. A shame, but there you go. Most of the pleasure in photography for me is the moment when the button is pressed to take the picture. And there will be other days.
Later, back home, and finding myself able to continue through the day without anything more than the shortest of naps, I picked up yesterday’s magnet painting, had a hard look at it, and decided there was nothing to do with it but to scrub it off and start again, this time with the 01 pen I bought today. The light had gone over to the orange of early evening by then, so I shall have to wait until tomorrow to get back to work.
I seem to have broken through whatever barrier it was that was keeping me from painting, and I have a number of ideas to work out. I’ll do them tomorrow.
So this, written much earlier than usual, is intended to wrap things up in order to give me the bulk of tomorrow free to get some painting done. A most enjoyable prospect which, taken together with a good leg day, sends me off to bed happy and content. It’s a wonderful thing, is life.