Archive for August, 2015

Rien de Tout.

August 20, 2015

I can feel this Blog coming on.  I am just not awfully good at talking about nothing much at all, although I suppose that I ought to be.

I thought that if I put words on paper then they would flow.  But they don’t.  You need imagination for that.  And so I finish up writing about things that I know.  This isn’t Writing.  This is just Reporting.  Albeit in a vaguely amusing way, or hopefully, at least.

Once upon a time.  And then what?  Every story ever written has been written before in some shape or form.  And I am not about to drag up the depths of my past, with embellishments.  Much to unkind, and not frightfully complimentary to me anyway.  I was just a wimp.  I put up with whatever life threw at me.  And then blamed myself.  Which was probably, absolutely correct.

I do have dream of who I might have been, but believe me, it is all very boring.  My real life is almost certainly very much more interesting.  But there will never be a way in which I can report on what actually happened.

The story of my life will forever remain untold.

Tip Tripping

August 5, 2015

I have been Tip Tripping for years and years. When my children were small and I asked them what they wanted to do of a Sunday, they invariably chose The Tip. So they must have inherited their Mother’s penchant for collecting rubbish and hoarding it.

It was all much more easy in days of yore before they got antiseptic, when you could go to The Tip and then bring home more rubbish than you dumped. Although there are still ways. Genuine Tip Trippers know where and how to dump good stuff for other Tip Trippers to find.
My best, black, jersey midi skirt came from The Tip. It looks great with my red suede boots, although I do have to say that I am getting a bit old for red suede boots now. If I cared.
I did once find a Yoghurt Maker which I have used a couple of times, but I am going to start using it again now because the dog likes Yoghurt. Personally, I can take it or leave.
Then there were two Goose Down Pillows that someone thoughtfully packed in heavy duty plastic, both spotless, although I have washed them since.
I found the Kingsized Goose Down Quilt in a wheelie bin, with a very small tear in it, which I mended. I then took it to a launderette and washed and tumble dried it. Good as new, or almost.

So many things that I have forgotten over the years, but they have all been incorporated in some way. Nothing gets wasted around here.

Several very nice old terracotta plant pots that don’t crack during a frost. And a couple of solid, old planks which I varnished and turned into steps in the garden.

But my piece de resistance was a wrought iron standard lamp holder and two very old wooden, metal rimmed wheel barrow wheels on the very day they closed the Old Tip for ever, due to rats and other stuff that didn’t bother most of us. I saw this as a memorium to the old and more thrifty ways.
I upsides one of these wheels and fitted it to the top of the lamp standard which just happened to fit perfectly, and then attached candle holders. It is now a medaevil candle holder which would grace any baronial hall.

But you should have seen the wild life that crawled out when I treated it, although I did have to do it three times to get a definitive result.
Interestingly enough, wood worms are actually worms.

Life on Mars.

August 1, 2015

I am re-watching “Life on Mars” and “Ashes to Ashes”, on YouTube.  Bloody riveting stuff, although I don’t actually believe in life after death.

But this is more to do with life in a coma, rather than death, which isn’t what the whole thing is all about.  Although most of them ultimately appear to have been dead.

Me? I am not banking on it.  But I doubt that anyone wants to be dead for ever.  And so perhaps we hope.  And hope is what life is all about.  Even if only in the here and now.  And at my age it all becomes a trifle more important.

PS.  I carted the ghastly Pug up the stairs tonight to my bed because I briefly thought that she thought I didn’t care.  She didn’t like it.  She prefers her bed on the horrible wacked out armchair. that most people would be ashamed to own  So I won’t be doing that again.  I nearly broke my neck carting her up the stairs, let alone carting her back down again.

En Y var.