Apparently leaving your knickers out to dry makes you a slut. In which case the locals must think I’m running a brothel. Where else though are you supposed to put them? If I left them inside to dry our house would turn into a Turkish sauna from the water vapour evaporating off them. So the …
‘I think my daughter goes to nursery with your daughter’, I say. ‘Oh right’, the woman says looking me over, ‘Are you on holiday here?’ ‘No we’re travelling and working remotely (well I’m doing the travelling and John’s doing the working but why go into detail?). We’ve rented a house in the village,’ I tell …
‘You’re running out of things to say,’ John remarks. ‘Yeah,’ I agree. It’s a first for me. For a moment we are stunned into silence. I think it is because life has simplified itself down to just necessities. I think in single syllables now. Beach. Book. Beer. Mango. Oh wait. That last one is two …
The strip light was about three inches from my eyeball. The mosquitoes were biting the soles of my feet – the bastards. The metal ropes holding the bunk were rusting. An elderly Indian gentlemen was dying of emphesema in the bed below. And I was sharing that 12 inch wide, grimy bunk with a small …
It’s way, way, way more expensive than you think it’s going to be. Not like when you go to Ikea and can’t understand how a plastic collander, some plants, a shower curtain, two mugs and a hanging storage container has come to £112.56 (£113.55 once John has bought himself a reconstituted hotdog). Nor like Paris …
This is what I am staring at… – A Christmas tree, which if it was a person would be the drunk at the office party, unconscious, covered in puke, dribbling whilst leaning heavily against the wall flashing obscenely. – A sofa which is going tomorrow on freecycle and which I must remember to excavate the …
I was talking the other day in a post about the sense of community we’re finding just as we leave – remember the jazz dancing neighbours spinning off lamp posts and the pimping out I’m doing of John? – in a similar way, just as I resign and prepare to bugger off for a rather …
It’s a funny thing that just as we plan to pack up and leave to find home in the manner of ET, home (ie. South East London) starts to look more appealing. I know that’s an oxymoronic statement – south, east and London usually only combine in sentences that start with burglary, car theft hot …
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