Friday September 9, 2005
Woke early, needing to take the amended and approved house details into the agent in Boston. Pulled the curtains back in the study and there in the garden was a stunning display of spider webs all around the bird table, glistening with dew in the early light. I was out there with the camera within seconds. All I need to get me snapping is a subject that catches my eye…
Boston: Agents very friendly, and gave good advice on a detail of the wording in the particulars that I’d questioned. Now all we have to do is sell the perishin’ place. Costa coffee: cappuchino + two extra shots and croissant (dunked) — yumity scrumity. W.H. Smith: still dying on its feet but managed to find a set of sticky labels I need for the new filing system.
Driving home: Nat King Cole doesn’t work in the car.
Home: Standard text message to Graham to let him know I’m back safe. Occurs to me that this continually refined message could be a little text poem:
The agent’s web page for the house looks good, as does the RightMove version.
Now for a major cleaning session in readiness for the weekend rush of viewers. Well, you have to hope, don’t you?
Hot: Just de-cob-webbed the outside paintwork. Need to go back out with sponge and bucket to wash down fly-spotted uPVC but it’s too darn hot even with my widest-brimmed hat. I’ll do that job later. Now… vacuuming carpets. Dolly will be pleased…
…or, not. The fuss and display of outrage she exhibits, anyone’d think she’d been attacked regularly by rampaging vacuum cleaners since she was a kitten. She stomped off and hid under a spare bed until just now, long after I finished vacuuming, and after I’d had my lunch (3 small sausage rolls followed by 3 medium oranges) then out she comes, full of ire, demanding to know if it’s siesta time yet. Well, it is. Not on Dolly’s insistence, though, but because it’s now too hot to do anything but flop on top of the coverlet and wait for things to cool down. At this rate I’ll be house-cleaning in the small hours.