The House Husband

I managed to complete the painting today. The entire hall looks very bright and white now. The entire house also smells of paint. It will need a jolly good airing tomorrow.

I took another photo of the stairs today to try and show the colour when bathed in sunlight.

From the top of the stairs

This time I took the shot from the top of the stairs and the colour at the bottom is pretty true.

The six pictures are Japanese calligraphy. Each one is a character that means something (happiness, love, etc). Years ago, when Mirinda stopped off in Japan, a Buddhist monk painted them for her. We think they’re beautiful and I think they look quite dramatic against the white wall.

The only thing that happened out of the ordinary today was a visit from the woman who lives at number 32. Yesterday a parcel was delivered to them but they were out so I took it in for them. It then sat by the front door waiting for retrieval. No-one came and I was a bit concerned that they’d gone away and we’d miss them when they returned (seeing as we’re off to the Isle of Wight on Friday).

I had just finished sealing the front door with masking tape, ahead of painting it when a knock scared the daylights out of me. Normally I would have had a bit of warning but the noisiest members of the house were taken to the kennel this morning. I stood up (I was bending over, filling the roller with paint) and the woman was standing the other side of the glass looking a bit beseeching.

While most of the street is very friendly with frequent queries about everyone’s health (“Hi, how are you?”) and nary a missed opportunity to say “Hello”, the people at number 32 are somewhat distant. I don’t know why. I wouldn’t actually recognise them in the street, to be honest. I took a guess and assumed it was her.

You see, having just taped the door up, had it been a salesperson or one of those annoying people who knock on the door throughout the day during the week, I would have told them to…well, to go away because I’d just taped the door up. Seeing as it was a neighbour and I had her parcel, I sighed and removed half the tape then ripped off the rest by opening the door.

She was very apologetic – it was quite obvious what I was doing seeing as I had a paint roller in my hand, white paint all over me and a dust cloth on the floor – and started to show me the card the delivery guy had left her. I just smiled, reached behind me, grabbed and handed her the box (I think they were shoes or something in a shoe box). She apologised again and went off, box clasped in her arms.

I closed the door and re-taped it, vowing not to open it again for anyone until the paint was dry. I did manage this but only because no-one else knocked. It could have been the big sign I put outside telling people I was defusing a bomb and they shouldn’t come too close.

So, basically, that was my day, with a bit of tidying and floor washing thrown in.

Our neighbours are weird. I think I’ve said something similar before. I think they’re getting weirder.

Mirinda has noticed that the father often takes the dogs for a walk late at night. In the park. Unless there’s a good, bright moon, the park is pitch black.

So, tonight I’m in the bedroom, folding up the clean clothes, Carmen and Day-z helping in the way that only they can, by sleeping and suddenly there’s this god-awful screaming. Naturally the poodles went crazy and started barking then dashed off the bed and out the back where they proceeded to yell at the fence down the end of the garden. being a human and therefore having the ability to out think a poodle, I looked out the front window.

Next door’s porch light was on and the new rescue dog was sitting there emitting the screechy noise. I think it was trying to sing. Meanwhile I could hear our two right down the back of the garden barking at nothing.

The front door was open and the dog was bathed in the hall light. And then the father came out, lead in hand and led the dog up to the park. Interestingly, it was just the new rescue dog and not Otis, the scaredy-cat whippet they own.

It took ages for the poodles to come back but come back they did. They leapt onto the bed, collapsed and were instantly asleep. Wish I was a poodle sometimes.