One of the delights of DIY is the skip. For me, there a few things more satisfying than the arrival of this item in an empty, pristine state and its eventual departure full of your life’s detritus. It’s as good as therapy and a lot less expensive. And whilst is might piss off the neighbours because they can’t park in front of your house, my environmentally correct decision to eschew a car helps me maintain a lofty stance against their muted plaints…
This week a fresh new skip arrived and I keenly await the coming of butch guys with big drills - as you do. I have already spent a couple of hours slashing and devastating the current crop of vegetation that has sprung up in the concrete patch that is my back garden. Today I will progress a little further knowing that by this time next week both unwanted veg and concrete will all be gone. OK, Sleepy I know that it might equally be replaced by police tape sealing off the place as a burial site, but I remain rigidly optimistic.
However, one thing has intrigued me – and I warn readers with a delicate disposition to avoid this paragraph – is the existence of a pile of excrement that seems to have come from a truly large beast. This is not your run of the mill cat poop. I know my cats’ turds (sadly) and these are not their handiwork. And whilst we do now have two rather large tom cats next door, they must have got substantial intestines to produce this sample…Euuuw.
Finally, yesterday ended on a high. I had spent the day battling intellectual demons and a profound sense of failure and depression. This goes with academia I think – I’m not the only one to get like this by a long shot. However, this was substantially lifted by a recital of baroque music at the cathedral which was absolutely stunning. Upon my return I had an email from pugilistic Jimmy and one from my hunnee telling me that Mark L (the sexiest man on the planet, I swear) had commented that I was ‘perfectly formed’. At this rate I might even set some nookie before I die.
Yeehah and on with the rubber gloves.
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5 comments:
Are the rubber gloves for the Nookie? I didn't know you specialised!
I can't wait for a skeleton to be unearthed in your garden. I want first dibs, before the police. I've seen enough episodes of 'Bones'.
Well, hon, you can use marigolds for a variety of household jobs as well as some very interesting party pieces...
And if any bones emerge, I'm lobbing them around the bins of Southsea. I'm not going there with the Fred West or Krays shit - I have house prices to protect!
Ah, the skip sounds wonderful and I applaud your not having a car-ness, I never had one when I lived in Pompey and frankly - you don't need one, especially since both Sains and Tesco deliver.
I love weeding, it is as you say, utter therapy. Feng shui may have become a bit of a joke, but the idea of clearing paths for energy to flow is sound.
Er...I meant weeding not just in the weeding sense, but in the sorting out and tidying sense too. I must read over what I've written before it's actually being sent.
Schnee, I am with you. I love both. Such a sense of renewal so you get. Chi flows only with my creeky joints, I need a warm bath to restore movement!
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