This weather is taking its toll and my shoulders and legs.
As you may or may not have gathered, your host if currently off work having had his shoulder snooped around, hoovered, re-rendered, plaited and stitched-up by the Most Holy Geoff Graham. This puts me in the delightful position of attempting (with some enthusiasm – boredom is the real enemy) the housework. Before you tut and go all fembo on me, let me finish, attempting the housework one-handed. Not as easy as it sounds. Try opening a tin one handed. See? Not that tin-opening is exactly housework but … ach, you know what I mean.
Right. This bludi weather. Dry, hot, sunny. For all of 1 minute 56. Then raindrops like Vosene bottles. For 4 minutes. Then back to tropical roasting tin. Course, the washing has to go out. Then in. Then out again. Then, oooh wait a sec… yup, then in once bludi sudding more. And of course I am up in the loft-office typing this and researching cat sites* on the interweb. That’s another thing – try operating a mouse contra-handed. You end up in some very funny places, I can tell you.
So, far from worrying about my already denuded fitness and musculature atrophying yet more, I have calves like Carl Hayman and an aerobic level usually associated with cross-country skiers. And a desire to sleep about this time (say, ten to two) every day.
One good thing though. The students next door have, Allah be praised, gone for the summer. Now they weren’t a bad bunch o boys, just, perhaps, lacking in the ability to put themselves in someone else’s shoes. Something missing in society generally, I fear. But, hey, we all young once. (When I got married, my bro Joe mused in his speech that, after 14 consecutive gap years, I had at last got a proper job and then married.) And the house on the other side of us is empty, or being sold, or redeveloped or something. So, to cut a short story long, I can play my music as loud as I care to. And I care to play it loud. Bottom stimulatingly loud – I like to be able to pick out that high-hat, just so. Oh Stevie, that clavinet sound! Etc etc.
Among the innumerable literal clouds on the horizon is the metaphorical one of a visit to the practice nurse this afternoon to have my dressings changed and my sutures trimmed. Not too painful you’d think, but bear in mind I am somewhat hirsute. The Wife describes me as her Knight in Hairy Armour. And it was once suggested to me that I should try shaving from the inside.
3, 2, 1…
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhwhimper…
Big John is giving me a lift to the surgery. Bless him. Hopefully his intimidating presence, standing as he does at 6’6”, may suggest to the nurse that soaking the dressing off may be an option. Hope so.
Wish me luck.
*odd people, the Americans - I mean, my old moggy did not look like that. oh miw miaow miew, no.