It’s 8am on a Saturday morning and I’m typing this whilst making strange noises at Donald in order to make him stop chewing the wallpaper. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it is that is so incredibly tasty about wallpaper but he doesn’t just rip it off, he attempts to eat it too. The wall that appears to be his kill zone is now covered with LPs in order to dissuade him from chewing. This hasn’t worked, he just moves them to one side and continues nibbling. Sometimes, in a moment of ingenuity I’ll move the records around while he’s not looking so that they’re in a different order. Then I watch him as he hops along, examining them and looking for his ‘in’ to the wall, in this case The Velvet Underground by The Velvet Underground, push it to one side and realise, hey, this isn’t the bit of wall I was working on earlier! And then I observe, in much the same way as I imagine Brody and Hooper and Quint observed when that massive shark in Jaws started systematically dismantling the boat, the little sod knock down each and every record leaning against the wall until he finds his ‘patch’ and gets back to work. Of course, he eats the record too now. He has a particular fondness for the Bob Dylan ones, and Buffalo Springfield. I couldn’t tell you why but Bruce Springsteen doesn’t interest him at all, nor does Van Morrison.
With this in mind, and having watched The Money Pit yet again last night whilst waiting for Dirty Sexy Money to start I cross-stitched this,
Just need a dilapidated house pattern to use as a border and I’m golden.
I started making a coat last weekend but couldn’t be bothered to do the last bits of finishing - the button holes, the hemming, the dull stuff that if I was a millionaire I would get someone else to do - so that’s my job for this morning. We have no plans for this weekend other that going to John’s mother’s on Sunday to give his dad his birthday present so I’ll probably spend the rest of the day fiddling with bits and bobs in the house and maybe have a trot into town.
Going into town means I get to go on the bus. I love going on the bus. So much so that if I’m meeting someone in town and I’m running late I’ll still hang around at the bus stop for ten minutes to see if one’ll come along before I flag a taxi down. On the bus you get to read and listen to music and it doesn’t matter how much you had to drink the night before. You can listen to other people’s conversations and look at things out of the window when you go past. I get to do none of these things on the fourty minute drive to and from work five days a week.
Because of this whole Capital of Culture thing her at the moment there’s loads of building work going on and lots of old places being torn down. One of the old houses my bus route goes past has the whole front taken off and you can see the old wallpaper and fireplaces and shelves still on the remaining walls. It even has part of the staircase still intact. I love looking in an imagining what it was like to live there. When I was a kid I used to stand on my head with my back against the sofa and imagine what it would be like to live on the ceiling. I suppose this is the logical, slightly more grown up version of doing that.
So, to town, to town, to buy presents for the Magic Yarn Ball swap I’m doing on Craftster at the moment. And maybe a treat or two for myself too. I’ll put these two to good use too I think,
Have a good weekend x
Your bunny is clearly too smart for his (or your) own good. My cat tries to open doors with his paws. Sometimes he succeeds. We once found him inside the bar, which was hilarious on many levels.
bad cat! every day is a prison break for them isn’t it? that’s the thnks we get for all that pampering!