Wednesday June 25, 2008
One of those days when, possibly because I’ve been shifted from pillar to post, all my time scurried off into the corners like mice disturbed at a midnight barn dance.
“You’ll have to move,” Graham said.
“Come on, shift. I want to paint the kitchen and you’re in the way.”
“Oh,” I said, sighing deeply. “Give us a tiny tick to pick up my books.”
I’d been enjoying my mid-morning reading session by the open kitchen french doors. To warm to close them, not quite warm enough to sit comfortably in the garden.
And so the day went, seemingly being shifted out of the way for this or that from then on.
I gave up mid afternoon and settled down for a good siesta. Settled too hard, and woke shortly before seven as the Archers tuned up for another deathless fifteen minutes. Don’t ask me what it was about. Something organic to do with a garbage digestor and green energy. Twaddle as usual. I mean, what’s green about garbage when it’s been digested?
So no, just when I was thinking I’d be sitting down to write another segment of my ‘novel’, I’ve run out of evening and out of energy, green, brown, or purple. Until tomorrow.
Painting the kitchen