Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Just me and my shadow...
I have had a woohoo-shit-crap-feck of a weekend after a fair to middling week. Pardon my French. All of the above was bleated by me out into the ether at some point(s).
Least said, soonest mended methinks.
I might tell you more about the bad bits when I have stopped grinding my teeth down in panic and sleep-walking the floors at stupid o'clock before dawn. Then again I might not, as it doesn't just concern me and I don't wish to air laundry that is not strictly mine own.
But there again life is friendly here in Blogland, and so I am sitting, awaiting the second episode of Downton Abbey, while biting my lip and nursing a sickly, probably dying, pet rat. I live it large, mes peuples!
In another world. A period world, in fact. Here at Crawford Towers, I am morphing into Dame Maggie Smith, who plays Dowager Countess of Grantham. I've always loved Maggie Smith. And now Shirley Maclaine has joined the cast. I've always loved Shirley Maclaine. I've read all of her books. Well, nearly all of her books... Some of them are proper bonkers. (They're the ones I've read!)
I wish I had an iota of either of their aplomb. Their rabid tongues. Their wonderful put-downs... I do. To be able to give THAT kind of tongue-lashing. It might make me a less anxious person...
In this world, I was so distracted a week or so ago, as I stood in a car-park in a queue of chattering people in front of a badly behaving ticket machine that I missed someone important, another famous actor.
...I was being a skinflint without a job in sight, desperate not to feed the machine anything more than the requisite several pence and I only had pound and two-pound coins in my purse. I also didn't want to give the car-park nazis (don't judge, you know they are) more than I absolutely needed to. The council would probably spend it on new uniforms and shiny badges for them and not some of the shabby potholes in my country roads. Well, not my roads, as I don't own them, as such. Crawford Towers may be grand, if small in scale, (two-up, two-down with extensions adding valuable space to live in, which I've filled with boxes of crap, of course), but I don't have an estate...
But they are scarily holey after last winter. And it looks as if this winter is going to be a doozy after a horrifyingly wet summer. At one point, I started to put together bits and pieces to build an ark. I had the two rats already, natch, as a starter for ten. (Edited to add, we've had further flooding since the weekend and since I wrote this, (see picture from yesterday below), and I haven't even been able to get out of the house for two days for the fords at the bottom of the hill Crawford Towers is perched on are flooded, and I have no landline to speak of and internet access that is equivalent to the local woodpecker chipping out words with his beak on stone tablets...)
Anyhoo, the rambling button on the blog was on there, and I've also been texting an old, old friend while writing this, so there's really no excuse. Clicks 'send'.
So, back in the car-park. I managed to exchange one of my pound coins for several bits of silver shrapnel by chatting up the lady behind me in the queue, while the gaggle of mainly men in front of us continued to try to coax the machine to behave. She seemed a little distracted herself, but I thought maybe it was just me and my heightened state putting her off.
I approached the machine finally, grabbed my puny, almost illegible ticket and was setting off for my twenty minute trolley-dash around the supermarket, when she tapped me on the arm and said, 'No wonder you were so overcome there, with all that fuss about the money, you just missed Robson Green.'
'No, you're joking!' I cried. 'Yes!' she squeaked, her eyes moist with excitement. 'Where was he? How did I miss him?!' I asked.
'He was right there, in front of you', she went on - 'You could have touched him!' At this, she licked her lips and looked rather salacious. She glowed with glee. 'Well, where is he now?' I blurted...
All the people around me (including the more-than-usually-excited male pensioners), pointed in the same direction and with my bat's-eye focus, I saw him (at least I think it was him) crossing the road over to Marks and Spencer.
Sometimes I think I might be losing my marbles.
Who said, 'Again?!' Was it you, Scriptor Senex?
'Jewellery'/Stitch Marker symbols pic courtesy of this seller on Etsy CLICKIE