I’m not really here. As I said, I’m busy. But what’s the point of having a blog if one can’t bung something on it from time to time?
I’ve disentangled the clematis (armandii) and spread it out across the garden, octopus like. Gradually, I’m tying it back to the wall. The flower buds are falling off as I go because it keeps tangling with the olive tree and the honeysuckle and the cotoneaster and everything else. Each arm is several metres long and each leaf is on the end of a crooked stem so they hook onto everything they brush against and . . . (gasp for breath) . . . . . . Never mind why I’ve spread it out like this. Long story! (And I’m not really here!)
The gas boiler has broken. When I climbed up to take the front off, I found a little pot in a clear plastic bag on top with germinated seeds inside. Fortunately it’s labelled - the Chinese lanterns everyone told me not to grow. Turns out I am growing them but I’d forgotten.
We didn’t mind too much at first (the boiler breaking) - but there’s been a cold mist all day and the engineer isn’t coming till Friday. He won’t come sooner unless we can guarantee to stay in the house for twenty-four hours at a stretch. Do gas engineers really come at random moments in the middle of the night? Seems very odd to me. I decided to wait for a proper appointment rather than stay under house arrest with a constant ear for a disconcerting nocturnal knock.
The heater on the washing machine has broken too. Seems a bit much of a coincidence. Do you think I can blame solar storms? Not sure what to do about it. The washing-machine-man has left a message on his answer-phone to say he can’t mend any more machines until after the 28th March. Brilliant.
I could be taking down the Christmas cards but I feel it’s my public duty to recommend ‘Killed at the Whim of a Hat’ by Colin Cotterill. It’s fun. It’s gentle. It’s an easy read and a sensible length. Detecting after bloody murder shouldn’t leave one with a warm glow and a sense that all’s well with the world - but that’s how I feel as I close the last page. It turns out Colin Cotterill has written lots of books which probably means he’s a famous author and everyone but me has known about him for ages - but in case I have company in ignorance (forgive me!) . . . and in case you, like me, are needing to snuggle under a duvet with a good book because, despite having lots of things to do, the house is cold; and/or in case like me you are trying to distract yourself from wishing you had something clean to put on and wishing the washing-machine-man would hurry up and phone back to recommend a friend so you can employ a different but equally competent and trustworthy washing-machine-person . . . (we had a gas-man come to look at our gas-cooker once . . . he said it needed mending . . . we said ‘yes, that’s why we asked you to come’ . . . he put some red and white tape on it and a notice to say we shouldn’t use it (which we couldn’t anyway because it didn’t work) . . . then we gave him some money . . . and he went away saying if we wanted it mending we should give him a ring and he’d fix an appointment . . . and we were completely bemused . . . and I don’t want to pay anyone else to tell me something isn’t working and not to mend it [Do I need another bracket ending yet? Here are some spares ))))))))) - - - if any are missing, just pop one in at the right place because I’m busy and I’m not here and I’m not reading this through to check the spelling or the grammar, it’s just that I wanted to make a public service broadcast about a good book.
Isn’t it wonderful having a blog?
|This teasel has nothing to do with anything.|
I just like it.