Housework is dangerous and expensive.
One should always resist the urge to do something like dusting. I know from experience.
The predilection in Mediterranean countries for tile floors rather than fitted carpets has its advantages in the summer, when tiles are much cooler, but has a distinct disadvantage when dusting. Or attempting to.
The internet radio is in the kitchen so, unless I am prepared to turn the volume up to dog-owners’ levels of inconsideration I wear a pair of Wi-Fi headphones. I was wearing said headphones when the sight of a layer of dust caught in a ray of morning sunshine on top of an electric fan propelled me forwards in my chair to lean towards the offending surface and my headphones promptly fell off.
There is a particular kind of clunk that something which is not supposed to come into contact with a hard surface makes which tells you immediately that hope for the continuation of the products life has gone before the echo of the clunk has died away!
In the modern world where do you go to have something repaired at a cost which isn’t 70% of the cost of buying it new? I am sure (as only someone who has not idea at all) that the effect of the bump has been a disconnection of the power supply to the phones. I am sure (ditto the last parenthesis) that the repair will be simple rejoining of a wire. So all I need to find is an honest electrician who will not take me for a ride.
Toni! Do something!
And he did.
Sometimes it is simply having the confidence to pull things apart that is the key to making it better. The pads on the earphones responded to brute force and revealed that the batteries had become dislodged slightly and broken contact.
They are now working!
Which is more than can be said for the radio. When one is dependent on the internet radio for Radio 4 then one has to put up with inexplicable breaks in transmission - especially with Radio 4 for some reason.
This has been a leisurely day with me making an effort, from time to time, to rise from the recumbent to the semi-recumbent position so that I could read some of the short stories from 1922 which comprised the next electronic book I was to read.
We went out for lunch and I paid my customary visit to a church to mark Good Friday. Our central church in Castelldefels is rarely open and I always take the opportunity to go in and look at the extraordinary series of paintings which fill the bays. There are no windows in the church but the wall space is filled with trompe l’oeil murals illustrating biblical scenes. They have been painted with vigour and are not as gruesome as some Roman Catholic ecclesiastical wall filling that I have seen!
As if to complete the rituals that I like to observe on this (in) auspicious day, the classical radio station of Catalonia has just played an extract from the Saint Matthew Passion. I can now relax.
I am acutely conscious of the days left which can be counted as holiday. I have taken advice and I am confident in the assertion that a weekend may be counted officially as holiday (and should be enjoyed as such) as long at the Monday is also a holiday. In our case the Tuesday is also a holiday so I have four more days of official holiday and then only three working days to the next weekend. And then we are well into April. You can see the way my mind is working!
Meanwhile, back to the stories of 1922: you never know when they might come in handy in educational terms!
One should always resist the urge to do something like dusting. I know from experience.
The predilection in Mediterranean countries for tile floors rather than fitted carpets has its advantages in the summer, when tiles are much cooler, but has a distinct disadvantage when dusting. Or attempting to.
The internet radio is in the kitchen so, unless I am prepared to turn the volume up to dog-owners’ levels of inconsideration I wear a pair of Wi-Fi headphones. I was wearing said headphones when the sight of a layer of dust caught in a ray of morning sunshine on top of an electric fan propelled me forwards in my chair to lean towards the offending surface and my headphones promptly fell off.
There is a particular kind of clunk that something which is not supposed to come into contact with a hard surface makes which tells you immediately that hope for the continuation of the products life has gone before the echo of the clunk has died away!
In the modern world where do you go to have something repaired at a cost which isn’t 70% of the cost of buying it new? I am sure (as only someone who has not idea at all) that the effect of the bump has been a disconnection of the power supply to the phones. I am sure (ditto the last parenthesis) that the repair will be simple rejoining of a wire. So all I need to find is an honest electrician who will not take me for a ride.
Toni! Do something!
And he did.
Sometimes it is simply having the confidence to pull things apart that is the key to making it better. The pads on the earphones responded to brute force and revealed that the batteries had become dislodged slightly and broken contact.
They are now working!
Which is more than can be said for the radio. When one is dependent on the internet radio for Radio 4 then one has to put up with inexplicable breaks in transmission - especially with Radio 4 for some reason.
This has been a leisurely day with me making an effort, from time to time, to rise from the recumbent to the semi-recumbent position so that I could read some of the short stories from 1922 which comprised the next electronic book I was to read.
My reading was interrupted by my attempts to take a decent photograph of the series of cooing bird life that lights upon the ariel and disturbs my concentration. I have been trying to get a decent short for some time, but as soon as they see me pointing something at them they take flight. Today was the first time that I got anything even half-way decent. I shall persevere.
All the stories from the Best British Stories of 1922 so far are of the comfortingly narrative persuasion with a little dose of morality thrown in. Nothing difficult and all, so far, competently written.We went out for lunch and I paid my customary visit to a church to mark Good Friday. Our central church in Castelldefels is rarely open and I always take the opportunity to go in and look at the extraordinary series of paintings which fill the bays. There are no windows in the church but the wall space is filled with trompe l’oeil murals illustrating biblical scenes. They have been painted with vigour and are not as gruesome as some Roman Catholic ecclesiastical wall filling that I have seen!
As if to complete the rituals that I like to observe on this (in) auspicious day, the classical radio station of Catalonia has just played an extract from the Saint Matthew Passion. I can now relax.
I am acutely conscious of the days left which can be counted as holiday. I have taken advice and I am confident in the assertion that a weekend may be counted officially as holiday (and should be enjoyed as such) as long at the Monday is also a holiday. In our case the Tuesday is also a holiday so I have four more days of official holiday and then only three working days to the next weekend. And then we are well into April. You can see the way my mind is working!
Meanwhile, back to the stories of 1922: you never know when they might come in handy in educational terms!
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