I noticed the other day that I was writing my 998th post and meant to remark upon the thousandth. I forgot. This is post number 1003. Unfortunately, no. 1000 referred to the dog being sick.
I’ve spent the last hour clearing my desk and dealing with things that had accumulated in the past few weeks. The new computer is now sitting splendidly on the cleared desk instead of the table in the drawing room where it has reposed since Monday. Actually, I rather liked it there. It was very comfortable, relaxing on the sofa and typing, although I admit that I didn’t get much work done. It’s more purposeful here. The main reason for bringing it in, however, was to plug it in to the printer … don’t think I wasn’t tempted simply to take the printer through there and have everything around me (including a small fridge with beer in), but I resisted. There is a small part of me that isn’t, at heart, a bloke.
More to come, I expect. I’m just off into town for food. The fishmonger will be on the market and we’re out of bread and we’ve eaten all the vegetables.
Later The ‘bloke’ remark wasn’t meant in any way as a criticism, nor a description of all men, by the way, and certainly not an insult – as I implied, it describes me pretty well on the whole.
I’ve bought a splendid sea trout for dinner, first of the season. I went to the bakery for a loaf and looked at the price as it was being wrapped up – couldn’t read it at all. I looked with one eye, then the other, then realised I’d forgotten to put my contact lens in this morning. Fortunately, I can see well enough to cycle I hadn’t realised at all, which just demonstrates how unobservant I am.
There was a woman in the wholefood shop buying a whole basketful of stuff, over £40-worth. Staples; butter and cheese and milk and cereals and nuts and the like. I noticed that the organic cornflakes were labelled ‘gluten free’ as if this was unusual. Aren’t all cornflakes gluten free? It is an awfully good little shop. I buy more and more of my general foodstuffs there.
My car is back, by the way. Mike is quite sure that he’s put everything right now and he says it’s running beautifully. He says that he’s not surprised that I liked it (before all this nonsense came up) as it’s a pleasure to drive. “I put my foot down a bit” he said “as I was coming out of a junction and there was a lorry coming in the distance, and I was up to 75 before I knew it.” That’s miles, not kilometres, per hour, by the way. I hope there’s not a speeding ticket in the post; it’ll be embarrassing to have to pass it on to him. However, I know what he means, not that I drive over the limit at all, ever.