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hirezI dunno. It's like something in my head has shaken loose, or perhaps I had a head full of rubbish that looked like a really bad go at Tetris, and an inspired bout of button-jabbing has slid a selection of 5x1 blocks into the depths of the mess and made it all collapse away under its own weight.
Today a nice man came to hack away at the back of the house and (I hope) repair the bits that I suspect have been allowing the damp in. It's only wanted doing for oh god I really shouldn't be allowed nice things years, and I have never been able to talk myself into phoning the relevant Nice Builder (Jerry, who used to live a couple of doors down and so knows exactly what goes wrong with these houses) because the stupid people that live in my head were convinced that it would cost nine million quid. Because obviously as soon as yer man raised a hammer to some knackered bit, it would fall away to reveal something infinitely worse and the only things left holding up the house would be habit and the wiring loom.
The people who live in my head are stupid bastards who should never be allowed to watch any television programme presented by either Sarah Beeny or Dom Littlewood ever.
The only mild excitement to the morning was when yer man called me outside to look at the gap between the door frame and the lintel, which had been filled at some point by a carelessly cut block of polystyrene foam. He'd already found a length of wood in the garage that would be a better fit and only wanted to know if I'd any plans for it myself. Which, I don't know, felt like he'd already worked out I was the sort of chap who'd hang onto lengths of timber because 'that'll come in handy one day'...
The lintel itself was a sodding great lump of concrete-and-rebar that looked like it had been hacked from a bunker (or Maunsell Fort, as I alleged on FB earlier) and I could probably expect that to fail some time in the next 6-800 years.
So the house is less likely to let the wet in this winter, and the garden, while still something of a concrete wasteland, is now somewhere pleasant to be that I can quietly fill with containers of small trees, fruit bushes and herbs. Which is...
... You know, if you're one of the five people who still pay attention to LJ, that we went to York this last weekend. Since York is not short of fine ales and interesting food, I spent some time sampling both. It has been my experience of the last few years that hangovers have become terrifying and debilitating cavalcades of all the things in my head that are a bit of a worry, in triplicate and in 5.1 dobbly sterelode.
That didn't happen, so in a spirit of scientific investigation I must drink more beer in order to determine exactly how stupid and self-limiting I've been.
(And that, your honour, is the case for the defence...)
Today a nice man came to hack away at the back of the house and (I hope) repair the bits that I suspect have been allowing the damp in. It's only wanted doing for oh god I really shouldn't be allowed nice things years, and I have never been able to talk myself into phoning the relevant Nice Builder (Jerry, who used to live a couple of doors down and so knows exactly what goes wrong with these houses) because the stupid people that live in my head were convinced that it would cost nine million quid. Because obviously as soon as yer man raised a hammer to some knackered bit, it would fall away to reveal something infinitely worse and the only things left holding up the house would be habit and the wiring loom.
The people who live in my head are stupid bastards who should never be allowed to watch any television programme presented by either Sarah Beeny or Dom Littlewood ever.
The only mild excitement to the morning was when yer man called me outside to look at the gap between the door frame and the lintel, which had been filled at some point by a carelessly cut block of polystyrene foam. He'd already found a length of wood in the garage that would be a better fit and only wanted to know if I'd any plans for it myself. Which, I don't know, felt like he'd already worked out I was the sort of chap who'd hang onto lengths of timber because 'that'll come in handy one day'...
The lintel itself was a sodding great lump of concrete-and-rebar that looked like it had been hacked from a bunker (or Maunsell Fort, as I alleged on FB earlier) and I could probably expect that to fail some time in the next 6-800 years.
So the house is less likely to let the wet in this winter, and the garden, while still something of a concrete wasteland, is now somewhere pleasant to be that I can quietly fill with containers of small trees, fruit bushes and herbs. Which is...
... You know, if you're one of the five people who still pay attention to LJ, that we went to York this last weekend. Since York is not short of fine ales and interesting food, I spent some time sampling both. It has been my experience of the last few years that hangovers have become terrifying and debilitating cavalcades of all the things in my head that are a bit of a worry, in triplicate and in 5.1 dobbly sterelode.
That didn't happen, so in a spirit of scientific investigation I must drink more beer in order to determine exactly how stupid and self-limiting I've been.
(And that, your honour, is the case for the defence...)
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Date: 2014-09-10 06:20 pm (UTC)You remain one of the few people whose writing is so instantly recognisable that this is never a problem :)
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Date: 2014-09-10 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-11 11:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-11 11:27 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2014-09-11 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-11 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-09-11 08:38 pm (UTC)There are a set of telly-things that just leave me cold. That, self-righteous-o-vision like 'bloody immigrants coming over here and wanting food in exchange for work like bastards' or 'look at these fat people they can't help themselves' and poking-fun-at-the-afflicted like 'look at these people with a house full of things, it's cheaper than a visit to the bedlam!'