I found a very tiny, green car in our vestibule today. I think it may have fallen out of a young boy’s pocket yesterday. It is so tiny, it could easily be overlooked but, likewise, it could easily be missed. In either case, it is now safe and sound on our mantelpiece.
That is merely for Lost and Found information. What I really want to discuss, is laces.
I have a question. Who actually knows how long shoelaces need to be to fit a pair of runners? Apart from a seller of runners, I guess. They are things that are rarely required yet, when they are, it’s pretty important to know the correct length.
Last week, in Stockholm, just as we were about to leave to catch a bus, one of my laces snapped. I cannot remember the last time this happened to me. Or even if it ever has happened to me. It meant we were delayed and had to catch the next bus as I made a bit of a slapdash repair to the lace.
Back home, at ICA I bought what I thought were the right length laces only to find that they were far too long. Even after tying them in a double knot, the loops were longer than the shoes, meaning they dragged on the ground when I walked.
The next time I was at the ICA, I bought a smaller length of lace. This time, the laces were too short, meaning I could just tie a single bow and barely that given my not in the least bit nimble fingers.
I guess I’ll have to go to a shoe shop and ask them. In retrospect, I should have measured the old laces, at least the one that didn’t snap, before I threw them away. Stupid Gaz strikes again.
But enough about laces and a bit more on measuring.
I finished measuring the rooms to be painted next week and worked out the square metres of paint required in the various colours. Each room is far from square, which made it quite complex. Still, I think I worked it out correctly. Like simple mathematics, geometry is not really my forte.
While I struggled with numbers, Mirinda taught Fi how to use Teams (Skype is about to vanish from the world) and took the girls for a delightful six-kilometre walk. She almost exhausted them and did a pretty good job on herself. The girls, naturally, were very happy.
And I cooked roast lamb for dinner. Not from the French cookbook today, though. Just out of my head, something that amazes me every time. Weird that I have problems measuring a room or working out lace length, but can cook roast lamb and all the trimmings, without thinking about it.
Mind you, I could have done with Fi, my kitchen helper, afterwards. Why is there always so much washing up to be done after a roast?
