The House Husband

And so back to work. Another day working through the eleven portraits of Prince Albert and creating/amending people records. At one stage, it was so dull, I actually created a few events in the events authority! I was quite dismayed to discover there wasn’t entries for the Boer War, the Crimean War or the Battle of Waterloo. This was rectified and saved my sanity.

Last week, Nick (at work) was involved in setting up the Art Fair. This is a set of 56 art stalls from some major galleries in London, outer counties and international countries. It’s sort of like a huge mall of very expensive art. They are nearly all originals or limited edition prints. They are also quite expensive – the cheapest one I saw was a small line drawing by an insane Major General which was selling for £450.

But the loveliest one was a pre-Raphaelite painting by Hester May Bridgewater. I said to Mirinda that it was fortunate I didn’t have my credit card and her with me. We both love the pre-Raphaelites but will never be able to afford one of the well known ones (they sell for millions when they do appear from private collections). As I said to Mirinda, this one would be about our only chance of owning an original.

Oh, I was sorely tempted. I even snapped a photograph and sent it to Mirinda so she could be sorely tempted as well. Mind you, when we discussed where we could hang it, we thought it would probably be too big for our little house and would have to go on permanent loan to a gallery somewhere for a pretty fee.

The Mystic Sphere by Hester May Bridgewater

At the entrance to the Art Fair, and the bit that Nick (at work) had been actively engaged in, was a long line of Science Museum paintings with the central theme of the moon. They chronicled man’s vision of the moon through the ages, growing in accuracy as telescopes improved. My favourite was the one showing the moon inhabitants all playing in grassy fields, their bat-like wings ready to launch them off the ground if need be.

The entrance to the Art Fair courstesy of Nick (at work)

Apparently a member of the public mentioned to someone that one of the pictures was actually hanging upside down. It was a painting of the lunar surface. At first everyone was a bit sceptical. I mean how could any picture of the moon be either upside down or not. It is a sphere, after all. However, it was right next to a plaster model of the same picture and was quite clearly upside down. Poor Nick (at work)! He had to rush down there with someone handy so they could turn it round.

I should add that the Art Fair was actually called Watercolours Works on Paper, which is a bit wanky, if you ask me. That reminds me. A couple of Americans were on Breakfast the other morning talking about possibly producing a US version of Only Fools and Horses. When asked how they would change the language to make it understandable to American audiences, they said it was a hard task but they were going through finding American slang that would fit. They didn’t have anything specific (it’s only in the planning stages, after all) but figured they’d use non-swear words like ‘wanker’.

Poor Bill and Sian! Breakfast is live and regularly receives letters from irate viewers when anything borders the mildly rude but swearing creates a veritable barrage. They suddenly started speaking loudly, trying to cover up the word that had already been spoken and any others that may emerge. The two guys were very embarrassed and the rest of the interview proceeded without any more slips.

The thing is, I would have thought ‘wanker’ was pretty unacceptable on US daytime television as well – particularly a morning show. I know they regard ‘pissed’ as a normal word meaning cross. Still, it was very funny and nearly had me falling off the lounge, where I was lying in the usual morning practice of waking up.
Wanky though the title may have been, there’s no argument that it had a prodigious amount of very beautiful paintings with very impressive price tags attached.

Because Mirinda is still flat bound (that’s the same as house bound but six floors up), I went straight to Canary Wharf from work to buy her critical supplies (cup cakes, ice cream, red and white spotty or striped mugs) and to spend a few hours with her. She needs to be better by Monday so she’s going to stay at the flat for the weekend.

I see it as a form of quarantine and, given the ferocity of whatever she has, I seriously do not want it. As it is I’ve been forced to chew on 1000mg vitamin C tablets just to ward off her voracious germs.
Of course, my mercy dash meant I didn’t get home till almost 9:30, which meant an awfully long day for the dogs to spend alone.

Day-z didn’t sulk and Carmen went delirious.

A very sick Mirinda texted me at some unnatural hour of the morning to say I shouldn’t wake her up but, rather, make sure Ben had received her message presumably just before mine. Task complete, I started the usual tidy up required when we have a viewing for there is one scheduled for tomorrow at 9am!

Actually, I received the call from the real estate agent yesterday over lunch. I was watching an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm at the time that he rang. Unfortunately my ring tone is the theme from Curb Your Enthusiasm and I thought what I was hearing was coming from the TV rather than my phone, which was sitting on the coffee table. It wasn’t until the land line rang that I knew someone was trying to contact me.

Here’s a bit of Larry:

The phone was across the room and I had a lapfull of poodle so I figured it could wait until the episode and my lunch were over. When I checked, it was the real estate agent who had also left a message on my mobile wanting a viewing today. I had to put him off. When he called me back (as I stood shivering at the bus stop waiting to go to Grimley) he’d rearranged it for tomorrow at 9am.

Eventually Mirinda called to say she was awake. That’s not entirely true. She croaked that she was awake and feeling terrible. She blamed Ben who, it seems, has infected vast swathes of the workforce with his Death Flu. I was then given a shopping list that went from three small items directly connected to health resurrection to an entire week’s worth of groceries.

Then followed the scramble for a pen. Normally I use the shopping list in my smartphone (a great app if ever there was one) but my man fingers can be a bit too big when I’m holding a phone in the other hand so I opted for paper and pen. Since we both tend to use various electronic devices for the dissemination of information in our house, finding a scrap of paper and a pen isn’t always easy.

In about an hour, I found both and asked her again for the beginning of the list. I then went in search of a pen that actually worked, settling, finally, on a pencil. I asked her again for the beginning of the list. Naturally, once I was off the phone, I put the items on my smartphone shopping list app.

I ordered a new DVD player on the weekend and had received an email telling me it would be delivered sometime today with all manner of threats that they would deliver only to me. They list the various things they will not do with the parcel – leave it with a neighbour, leave it in a box, leave it by the front door – and insist if I wasn’t there, they’d drive it back to their depot. I figured I’d not worry about it and then reschedule it for Monday.

Late last night I received an unexpected email telling me that my parcel had left the warehouse and that I could find out my hour slot by the next morning. This was a bit of a game changer. I figured if the parcel was going to arrive at a decent time, I’d wait in and move lunch with Mirinda a bit.

Then, this morning, I received an email telling me what my hour slot was: 11:21 – 12:21. Seriously! How ridiculously accurate is that? Well into Mrs Bale territory if you ask me. I decided to wait for it and then leave for Canary Wharf to visit and shop for the patient.

It arrived just before 12. I dearly wanted to ask the delivery guy about the pinpoint accuracy of the time but figured I could make the 12:30 train if I left immediately. I did and I did.

I’m fairly certain that Waitrose at Canary Wharf, hates me. For instance, the only soups they didn’t have were chicken or beef broth, which they normally have in abundance. And then, in a ridiculously long aisle devoted to breakfast cereals, a wide gap in the display (the only gap in the display) was where the Weet-a-bix used to be.

My first thought was that Ben had obviously been infecting the locals over this side of London as well but when I reached the check-out, grasping my organic Weet-a-bix and creamy chicken soups, the woman in front of me brazenly brandished a normal Weet-a-bix box before my eyes as if taunting me. I almost stole it from her as I left the store.

At the flat we had lunch – roast chicken (which always puts me in mind of dad and his roast chickens at the shop) and lovely fresh crusty bread – a chat and I did the mountain of washing up during which I told Mirinda the entire plot of Whitechapel starring Rupert Penry-Jones (you may remember him from such things as Spooks)…all three episodes (highly recommended, by the way).

The train trip home was crowded and, largely uncomfortable. It’s always the people for the first stop who are happy to stand up for 20 minutes at the Farnham end of the carriage. I bet there’s seats further up the train. Crazy people.

There was a lovely big yacht sitting outside our favourite Turkish restaurant. I quite fancied buying it but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be allowed to park it in our street. I settled for a photograph instead.

Just the right size

The O2 arena (the Millennium Dome) looked rather good in the sun too. I have never been there and think it still looks like they’re building it.

A bit of the O2 Arena on the Thames

Finally, warm and cosy at home, I set up the new DVD player and completely rearranged the media equipment to make it less wired and more discrete. It took me an hour but then everything worked fine and now looks a whole lot better, hidden away in the cupboard.

I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time in the garden this week. What with cricket, football and rotten weather, the grass, especially, has gone a bit mad. The plan (as of Thursday anyway) was that I’d mow on Sunday morning. That way it would have all of Saturday to dry off. Of course, I was keeping my fingers and toes crossed with great expectations that it wouldn’t rain.

When our social plans were altered for today by the advent of Mirinda’s lurgy, I decided to put it off for a few hours, giving it longer to dry properly. The problem is that when I mow the grass when it’s wet, it doesn’t collect in the catcher very well but, rather, chucks great chunks all over the garden which means I have to rake. Because raking is a right pain in the butt, I never want to rake. So, logically, I wait for it to be dry.

Actually, on the way into Farnham for the second time today, I spotted a guy mowing his lawn IN the rain. Nothing odd in that, you’d think. How is that a problem? The only problem, as far as I could see, was the fact that he was using an electric mower. Call me stupid but that doesn’t seem to be very smart. Or is it waterproof electricity that’s used in electric mowers? I don’t know. Mine runs on petrol.

It may be an indication of how sad some people are but I have found a forum where the members argue vociferously about whether to mow in the rain or not. Seriously. It seems the problem is that big mowing companies can’t afford to turn down business so they mow whatever the conditions, regardless of whether it works or not. This I can understand however, why would anyone actually pay someone to mow a lawn improperly?

Here’s a short quote from the forum. I thought it worth including as I don’t really understand much of it.

When the grass is wet I have a problem with grass clippings getting stuck under the deck, I use Raptor mulching blades with a scag 36″ w/b ….. I here the blades hitting the stuck clippings.. I try avoiding cutting when wet. Never when it’s raining…..

However, something that concerns me more than grass clippings under the deck is how stupid does someone have to be to mow in the rain with an electric mower? And it wasn’t spitting, either. The rain was seriously coming down. I was drenched so I can vouch for it.

That was the problem, actually. It rained a couple of times on and off through the day, separated by teasing blue skies and sunshine. Of course, all gardeners will know what this means: the grass never actually gets dry. And so, consequently, I didn’t mow. At present, I’m looking at Plan C – mow tomorrow.

The Borough, Farnham, rain threatening

Mirinda has spent the day in bed. Well, most of it. And she’s feeling much better. We’re hoping she’ll be able to spend some time outside tomorrow.

Mirinda is very ill at the moment. So ill, she hasn’t come home from the flat. Believe me when I say, THAT is pretty ill. We thought she’d be home this afternoon but she has slipped back downhill and will probably stay in bed. Meanwhile I am holding the fort. Well, if you can describe a dolls house with two miniature poodles a fort.

First thing this morning saw the replanting of the sink into the bathroom top. It was a bit of a struggle (the access for the pipe is somewhat limited and my hand somewhat too big) and I had to have two goes at it (the first time I cross threaded it and when I turned the tap on, drenched everything) but it was eventually complete.

Given I’m such a lousy plumber I tend to be very careful and somewhat over-zealous but I always recall the advice Cowboy gave me all those years ago. I therefore remembered to use plumber’s tape to seal the thread, something the person who originally built the bathroom seems to have ignored. In fact, the thread was covered in silicone sealant instead! This would explain why it was so difficult to get off in the first place.

Sadly I didn’t take a ‘before’ photo of the top. it was looking a bit sad. The varnish had chipped off all over the place and the wood was all but bare. Anyway, here’s how it looks now.

Bathroom top after a bit of renovation

After struggling with the sink, I set to cleaning the bathroom, finding bits of wood dust everywhere. I’m happy to report that it now looks like a new bathroom. Well, the top anyway. Mirinda helpfully suggested I should now paint the entire room. To be fair, it wouldn’t hurt.

After lunch and walk up the park which saw two FSIs (one each) and a consequential bath, I decided to spend some time in the garden in preparation for a visit from Ben, Monali, Imogen and Saffron. This was planned for tomorrow. A day in the country, pub, walk, cricket and swings (the latter for Imogen). Everyone was looking forward to it. Sadly, due to emergency quarantine restrictions, we had to cancel.

As reported earlier, I’m delighted with the progress of my hand sown borage. It continues to thrive. I think the pixies must be looking after the plants. I’m pretty sure they use the flowers for hats and the leaves in their tea so it’s seriously in their own interests for them to grow well and fruitful.

I can now report that the first flower has emerged! It looks a bit lonely but, given the amount of buds on the other plants, I reckon there’ll be a more solid covering of blooms soon.

Our first borage flower

Speaking of dogs…which I wasn’t really but figured it was as good a change of subject as any…Carmen spent most of my garden time near me, chewing on a ham bone – between the occasional growl at her sister if she came within twenty yards of her.

The bone is all that remains of two ginormous ham bones I gave them Friday morning. They were bigger than their heads and I’m amazed Day-z could pick hers up. Carmen, of course, started eating hers in her bed so had no need for carrying. Day-z, however, took hers out of my hand and stressed her neck muscles getting it outside.

Before returning home last night, I suggested to Mirinda that Day-z would have eventually claimed them both. After the usual leaping and licking at my arrival home, Day-z quickly disappeared around the side of the house. I followed her and, sure enough, there were both the bones. I like to think that hopefully Carmen managed to eat a bit of one of them before it was stolen.

A little later, after posting last night’s blog post, I started to go downstairs. Sometimes the dogs go mad and start jumping up and down at me, threatening to push me down the stairs. This is their way of saying they want a wrestle. I sat on the top step and complied.

Wrestling usually means playing with them with one hand each while they bounce back and forth. Carmen, however, had a cunning plan. After distracting both Day-z and me, she dashed downstairs without a backward glance. I just played with Day-z for a bit and then continued going downstairs. Just outside the back door, under the herb table, arse in the air, was Carmen, chewing eagerly on the retrieved bone.

Day-z did not look amused when she realised what had happened and how easily she’d been tricked. She approached but quickly backed off when the growls started. I showed Day-z the other bone but, of course, she wanted the one her sister had.

And now, there is only one left. I have no idea what they have done with the other. I’ve searched but can’t find it. The one Carmen was chewing is all but gone, covered with flies when she leaves it for a second. I’m sure the mower will find the other one eventually.

Small bloom on the fuchsia we thought was dead

As it turned out, Mirinda came home at about 8:30. She was feeling slightly better. I read her a couple of peculiar fairy stories and she slipped off to sleep.

Today I decided against going to uni. I am sick. I have been fighting off something awful for a few days but this morning, it won. I walked Mirinda to the train, went shopping, walked home, then went back to bed. I slept for a massive part of the day. I woke up, felt a bit better, cut back some of the foliage in the garden, felt worse, had something to eat and went back to bed. I may post more but I doubt it.

Last night, after posting, I added a new album to the site with more photos from the sulpture park. It is here.

The final day of 2009 was grim, grey and chilly. We’re hoping for some sunshine tomorrow.

I watched the Sydney fireworks this afternoon. It’s the only thing that makes me homesick. Always brings a tear to my eye.

Anyway, this is going to be a very short entry. I have been struck down with Mirinda’s accursed bug and feel lousy. Mirinda is still not 100% so we’re off to bed well before the midnight hour. As Mirinda just said “This has to be our worst Christmas break ever!” and I couldn’t agree more. To make up for it we organised a trip to Paris for next weekend. That’ll show those lousy bugs!

Happy New Year anybody
xx