Monday October 31, 2005
So. Got up, gave Dolly a good scriggle and a better breakfast, and then pitched in to the big house-clean.
I broke the job down into tasks I can handle, with a little rest in between. Still finding long periods of activity a bit of a strain.
Anyway, I got the thing done, with the house all gleamy-bright and ready for viewing. Took myself into the shower to set myself up similarly and, just as I was towelling off, the phone rang.
“I really didn’t want to make this call,” the agent said.
“Ah,” said I. “They’ve cancelled?”
“Afraid so. I’m really sorry about this.”
“Oh, good heavens. It’s not your fault. Look on the bright side. They could have simply not turned up.”
After a couple more pleasantries, I put the phone down. Gently.
Then, I swore. Loud, long, and with little invention. If you’ve ever seen Four Weddings and a Funeral and remarked the opening dialogue you will have a pretty exact but rather more decorous idea of the content and nature of my performance.
Graham was horrified. Then he gave me his bad news. He’s lagging behind on the big bar and cellar clean-up and needs another day, so he’ll not be back until Wednesday.
“It’s just not my day,” I said.
“Oh, poor chicken.”
“That’s a good idea. I think I’ll pop down to Tescos and get myself a bit of chicken to roast for my dinner. And a bottle of Jacob’s Creek Reisling to wash it down.”
“Not the whole bottle, surely?”
“Probably not, but I’m making no promises.”
In the event I drank about three-quarters of the bottle and I’m keeping the rest back to add to a casserole of the left-over chicken tomorrow.
And so to bed, only slightly squiffy.