This tree looks like I feel, except I’ve not been standing out in the wind off the sea for years and years.
I’m not a massive fan of pine trees generally (if it’s not December and covered in lights), but have always loved this kind of seaside pine with its long needles which look so good against a blue sky.
If you’re small you can climb on it and pretend it’s a horse…
Cough. Not that I’d want to, or anything.
Back in the days when the Resident IT Consultant was not yet the Resident IT Consultant, we once went to the pub. Well, maybe we went more than once. But there was this nice one, with good food, in a garden setting somewhere in Oxford.
We were just settling in over lunch, when one of his research colleagues turned up, accompanied by a full complement of family; Mother, Father and Sister. They joined us at our table and we chatted.
Before long Father discovered I sounded a bit odd, so asked where I was from. ‘Sweden,’ I said. To which he replied that his daughter had recently been to Norway. (Somehow people have always been to Norway.)
Trying to be polite, I then interrogated the Sister a little on her trip to Norway, because you have to at least try. She was a bit stiff, but gave the conventional answers people offer.
Then she turned to her embarrassing Father and told him not to be so stupid (and they were such a proper and well behaved family, too), because ‘she (that’s me) said she’s from Swindon!’
That explained it. I had to break it to her very gently that unfortunately Father had been right. He, on the other hand, was very happy pointing out that he might be old and hopeless, but that didn’t mean he’s always wrong.
And that’s where we are heading. To not-Swindon.
I cleaned up the Solar System this week. It needed doing. I carried it to the bathroom and showered it very carefully. It’s almost as good as new.
Another lovely side effect of the witchy upheavals is that the Astronomy textbook has been found. The Resident IT Consultant had been accused of losing it. And worse, your witch had heard it insinuated that she’d given it to Oxfam. There’s many a bad thing I will do, but there are limits. Even for me.
Although the Solar System is only so big.
Have you heard of the great vowel shift? I was always unaccountably fond of it, back in the days of (my) education. It explained so much. Whenever I try to get my head round why someone says ‘boss’ when they actually mean that vehicle that always comes in threes and takes you to the shop and back. Bus.
There is a reason they say it. There is a pattern.
Anyway, that’s not what I intended to go on about.
I’m talking of the great room shift, chez Bookwitch. It’s partly to do with better working conditions. Hopefully. And partly better sleep. Wishful thinking.
So, dodgy arm or not, here we are lugging furniture around the house. Mostly I watch others lug. (But seriously, have you watched your nearest and dearest flipping a large wardrobe over the bannisters? Upwards, I mean. Anything will come down. The bannister rail will never be quite the same, however.)
Books will be moving across the house in a complicated pattern, and hopefully the end result will be tidy and orderly for at least a week.
I am staying open for business. In June I noticed my favourite holiday café Konditori Regnbågen doing that very thing. Upgrading their premises without closing. People are fickle these days. Something closes and the customers find new favourites. Though, between you and me, Regnbågen can’t be beaten on their Zuleika cake. And losing those migraine-inducing wall tiles in the toilet was a blessing.
Their toilet. Not mine. And my painting is going well. Not done by me, obviously.