16 April 2011

Lights, camera - action!

Doesn't that look exactly like the set for 'Alt-Shift-Del - the blogger strikes back'?

Product placement - and see that half-moon glass design above the door? Perfect for selling to Microsoft for its logo.

  • Life is very good these days, albeit full of thwumps and krumps. The other day it was the swallow's nest crashing down on the patio and this morning, went to turn on the chandelier and brump! - every bulb fused and it isnt just throwing the fuse back on or changing each n every bulb (which I did, groan, fag bore). So I dragged out my extension lights wot I use in the store room to repair garden tools and hung them on the chanders - poh poh, let not maman see that foto.

    Actually gives a better light for my eyes than the chandelier but my mother doesnt like 'extraneous' stuff that spoils the decor so I can't use a fat desk light. Actually jolly decent of mum to let me use the desk for puter work but it saves her yelling up to the spare room "You up there?"

    Saturday April 16 - bliss. Woke un-hungover and leapt to the shower, except agua cameth there not. Normally this would tap a surge of cusses and lethargy and send me back to bed but, clear-headed and oaken of thigh from my workouts since mater left, I jogged down to the bottom-garden pump [cats and dog in tow, muttering to each other 'Blimey, what's come over him? must have a woman cept I didnt see no one did you me neither 'ullo he's swerving off to the bottom pool dont do it guv it's not true what they say about all your life swimming before you - opah, he's going for the electrics in the waterworks dont do it guv, it sets yr hair on fire 'ullo he's hit a switch and now he's jogging back up again. Gotta be a woman]

    I wish.

    It's a wonderful grey rainy day. I raise my face to the rain and jog twice round the house to give Sam his chance to bound and snort and pee where he will; the cats gather by the kitchen door for when I return to my sense and prep their breakfast.

    Basie for Breakfast Loud, as I feed the animals and unpeel a yoghurt and pour honey over it and boil for the camomile. Go over the shopping list and add loo paper and kitchen towels without even checking. Re-read instructions for answering machine on how to enter names n numbers. Re-think answering message, ask the boys for the Greek equivalent of

    "Yeh well, thanks for calling but we're prolly in the frigging garden, tell you what, buzz me on my cell if this is for me and if it's for mama ... I dunno, maybe forget it."

    έχετε το πιο όμορφο χαμόγελο there is a serveuse in the Scovto past Zavros with THE most radiant smile. A lady of a certain age but dapper and, as I say, with this this wonderful sourire. I looked up the Greek and tried it on her next time she was at my checkout line ... oh poh poh x 4! She burst out laughing and told everyone else and I looked stony-faced, like so? Is true.

    Now they call her from stacking the shelves - 'Your boyfriend's here, come look after him.'

    Once she did come and took my order and then returned to her stacking, telling the bloke after me that, sorry, but she was only serving her bf.

    Mother ~ well, she's in London and exhausting herself walking to Waitrose and cleaning the apartment. The energy of the woman.

    Hiccups to date:

  • Misplaced her keys first day [found 'em, natch]

  • Lost track of days, thinking she'd missed dates or wondered why her escort didn't turn up

  • Her Greek Companion for the Maundy gig called off: ex-wife died and he - at 97 - felt a bit tottery. I phoned the efficient Church House office and rearranged things. Memo to self - email Bishop Geoffrey to tell him what a shit hot team he has (not that precise lingo). He will see it: all emails go thru the SH team and further ensure mama's care by Church House

  • Gas installation in the flat leaking - leave it to her to tell the porter. I really don't care in my delirium of liberty.

    Do you know? It's like being free of a yoke of time and attention. I keep wondering why I feel so energetic and cornered.

    My brother calls to say that he's just realised that mum's return flight on April 26 is at 0555hrs and can I change it? I tell him to fuck it, that he's known the time for 2 weeks and that if I'd been able to find a decenter houred flight, would I not have gone for that?

    Instead, I suggest that during the drive up to Scotland on April 22 that he and our mother settle on an agreed word for my treasures - stolen, borrowed, commandeered, filched, appropriated, whatever. One agreed word.

    We're coming into party season and we'll be sitting round the table listening to dismissive profundities such as that Corfiots lie but Italians steal, leading onto the conundrum that Villa Thefti is the family joke for laughing-stock security in the same breath as it's to where my girls' most treasured mementos of their dad were 'relocated' for safer keeping from the thieving Corfiots. Fuck you, I tell him. Think about it: what do you want my sons-in-law to know about the filchery?

    He ends the call in the usual sulk.

    Sun out and I want to walk les animaux and survey what next to tidy.

  • No comments :