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Monday, August 03, 2009

The problems of paper


A cloudy start to the day.

One has to have faith (based on experience!) to believe that the sun will make an appearance. I don’t mind it being a little overcast as long as our nearest star is shining gloriously on Wednesday for the appearance of Emma – our next British visitor.

Already the new washing machine is (quietly) preparing the sheets to be laid and perhaps this time we might get round to splashing a bit of paint around.

Before Dianne and Gwen arrived I was determined to touch up the more glaring examples of grubbiness that we were presented with when we took over the house. The state in which we left the flat could not have been more marked when compared with the condition of the paintwork in the house.

Toni has attempted to repair some of the ravages (by a dog we suspect) to the doors which lead out onto the balcony on the third floor. The paste which he was using to restore the woodwork was probably more suitable for filling in cracks than replacing generous chunks of the framework: still, I am relying on the magic that ‘a lick of paint’ will do. To adopt what seems like a fairly racist slogan, “If it’s white, it’s alright!” It is, I suppose, an advantage that the interior of the house has been painted a uniform white making reparations (supposedly) easy.

Our good intentions to spruce up the living room came to nothing when I couldn’t find the paint brush. We know they exist because we packed them. We are unpacked. They are therefore somewhere in the house: the only problem is finding them. Situations like this can aid inaction for months. I hope!

Today, whatever else happens, I am going to get more boxes from Bluespace. Ten more boxes will probably fill all the remaining shelves in what I shall refer to henceforth as The Book Room. With bookcases along two walls and four bookcases forming an island in the centre of the room it has the look of a professional stack. The lights along the top of the wall based bookcases (installed by me!) are still working at a click of the remote – which still gives me a child-like pleasure each time I use it!

¨The far less pleasant task that I have to look forward to is the winnowing of the books now in place. I have decided that the number of bookcases already in place have reached the reasonable limit of what the house can take. You will note that I used the word ‘reasonable’ – this is to differentiate this house from the one in Cardiff where virtually every available empty vertical plane had a bookshelf of some sort against it.

Hard decisions will have to be made and I foresee a considerable amount of heartache as ‘84 Charing Cross Road’ meets ‘Fahrenheit 451.’

Still life is about hard decisions. Allegedly.
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