I thought of a splendid idea for a post a few minutes ago, then wrote an unaccustomedly sincere comment to Dave and now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. Oh dear. Sorry.
Anyway, I went to the Royal Academy today, visited two splendid exhibitions, went to Fortnum and Mason for lunch (my friend A insisted on paying for my lunch, and my cream tea later, I owe him big time and have said I’ll pay next visit which he was quite happy with – this is likely to be Hampton Court in the summer) and arrived home to sausages, bacon, baked potatoes and carrots cooked by the lovely Sage who will be rewarded by a specially affectionate kiss later. He’s out just now. I can’t remember what he said he was going to do.
I asked Derek if he’d like to be our next Treasurer, but he’s pleading age at present. He’s a mere (and very good-looking) 78, which hardly precludes him. However, if he turns me down (not many men have as yet, but it could be I’m losing my touch), I think Dave would be ideal. I’m saying this in all truth. Indeed, if he joined the committee (he’d have to be suddenly – ooh, bad grammar alert – interested in Fine Arts, but he would enjoy it) I’d try to wangle my way back on for another year. This has nothing to do with having or losing touch, I’m actually Telling The Truth.
Oh, the Sage went to see Al, who owed him money for strawberries, mushrooms et al (that’s not the same as Al) and has Paid Up handsomely. I’ve been emailed the contract for my new tenant, which is very encouraging. I have had not information that Alexander, the present tenant, has yet stumped up. He’s a bit of a twat, if you’ll excuse the language or even if you won’t, because the agents will charge for irritated letters and I will sue if he doesn’t pay. I am tough and uninterested in excuses, for his income is at least four times mine (probably five times) and far more than our joint incomes. He’s using a residential flat for business purposes which he has no permission to do and saying he can’t manage personal affairs and his girlfriend did it before they split up, since when he hasn’t opened anything but personal mail won’t cut the mustard. If necessary, I’ll go down and be maternal again. I’m hard to resist when being maternal.
I wonder what I was going to write about? Maybe tomorrow. Mañana, siempre mañana. As they say.