As usual my lovelies, here’s how my week went, in no particular order:
1- No one now knows how many different strains of covid there are, though I caught one US news reporter refer to ‘the UK strain’ over the past few days. Hey, don’t start bringing us Brits into the conversation, we know kung-fu.
2- Our little nowhere town went into Tier 4 after Dec 25th. Our Government guidelines for tier restrictions are four pages long, and I can’t find the paragraph about the rules addressing whether I can visit a fancy dress shop via a pogo-stick using only B-roads accompanied by my aunties sister’s second cousin’s budgies babysitter twice removed. So, as always, feckit, I’ll stay in.
3- My car broke down again this week. Turns out, that the mechanic that came out to fix it last time didn’t tighten one of the leads to the battery when he re-seated it – so if I brake sharply the live cable jumps off its mounting and the battery disconnects. Cue snickering as I imagine a traffic warden touching my car and getting…. a jump. Of course, there was no danger of that, but one can daydream.
4- I’m still waiting for my house to sell, so I can toddle off into the sunset. As the months droll on, my motivation to finish painting was ever-diminishing, my neighbor offered to help. Within two days, she’d painted the entire house, ceilings and wood-work included, like some demented road-runner on acid. This in turn made me feel like a complete slug in comparison. On the upside, selling my house means I’m doing things for the last time, – ‘that’s the last time I’ll clean and disinfect a cupboard’ or ‘that’s the last time I’ll scrub the staircase with a nail brush’ – it’s all quite cathartic.
5- Well back I go, to reminding myself what day it is, finding things to do to prevent me from sleeping, and to making decisions to go outside based on whether I want to put a bra on or not. Toodle pip.
Quote of the Week: