The art of love and hate

I put the new washing machine thoroughly through its paces today. I’m happy to report, it works a treat. It didn’t take long for me to reduce Mount Laundry to a mere bump in the basket. And the house was relatively quiet, something we’ve come to forget when using the old one.

I was at home nearly all day. In fact, the only reason I left the house was to hand Mirinda her cards before she went into the dentist. They were happily sitting on her desk in the library. I scooped them up and dashed out of the door at my usual snails pace, and hobbled down the main road.

We met outside Heaven’s Kitchen and I handed her the cards in exchange for a smile, a hug and a kiss.

On the way back, I took the only photo of the day.

Mirinda had walked into town earlier in order to meet strangers, have lunch at Hamilton’s (where they are now recognising her) and go to the dentist.

On the way in, she met the man who makes the rather strange but delightful art off Crossbones Alley. She chatted to him for ages. He told her how not everyone loves his art. In particular, a rather miserable woman at the end of his road and a belligerent man who enjoys nothing more than blocking people with his car.

In fact, he had the police call around one day because one of those two had called them to say he had human heads on display, which could frighten the children. Obviously, this was not true, and the police had a jolly good laugh with him instead.

There are far more people who love his works. Quite often I’ll be walking behind someone who suddenly bursts into happiness over the works poking over his fence. Clearly, his critics need to have a good hard look at themselves and lighten up. They mustn’t have a lot of happiness in their lives. Or art.

In the meanwhilst, I was at home working on accounts and doing washing. Such is my life.

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