I'm old enough to remember the day sweaters (jumpers if you like) were designed to keep one warm, and not a paper-thin, size-too-large fashion statement.
Tonight we visited the local cricket club's annual bonfire and firework display for the funfair rides, hook-a-duck attractions and food stalls. Always a grand occasion.
I spent time during the firework display casually pointing out to the girls the importance of standing back from fireworks, all the rest, and literally pointing out the respect the technicians had for the explodey-things. We might get some fireworks tomorrow, but no bangs.
Afterwards we returned home and settled down to comfort Ruby dog after all the bangs in her neighbourhood, and I settled down to some Hallow'een-pumpkin soup, the best soup I'd made in my life. Really, we'd tried it earlier and it was, mmmm…
I put the heat under the soup, sorted the girls clothes out, put the recycling in bins, then went upstairs to change and pee, leaving the girls to make warm drinks.
A little while later… I sniffed, "Delicious."
A first: I'd burnt the soup.
Sod it, I'll add a drink to the food order; the tablets say I can have a drink!
Woodford Reserve rye whiskey.
There is no contraindication so don't worry, but I doubt the manufacturer would want to encourage irresponsible behaviour. No, in answer to the question I sense forming, the tablets don't talk to me, that'd be a bit weird.
Most people faced with a day off, and family away during a school holiday week would, I'd guess, go insane and do all kinds of exciting things.
Today I ran out of Earl Grey tea and burnt last night's pizza instead of gently reheating it in the oven.
The highlight of my day then has been the successful, if well overdue, defrosting of the freezer. During the mammoth session I discovered that the ice above the top serpentine had built to such a thickness and expanded to such a degree that it'd pulled out one of its supporting bracket screws. The left front one! Danger, mild peril! And the thermocouple is a bit floppy now but seems to work; no signs of an impending ice age yet.
Incidentally, IKEA-Whirlpool didn't make frost-free fridge-freezers when we put the kitchen in.
Yeah.
Yeah.
We needed a new dishwasher. We have a new dishwasher, bought from a well-known Scandinavian flat-pack furniture and accessories retailer. But this morning I got a call from the well-known UK white goods retailer mentioned in my previous related post.
"Hello Mr Turner, this is Jimbobflibblywibpants [not his real name] calling from GrueGoods.com [not the site] about your delivery today."
Fuck!
He was ringing about the order the retailer and I jointly cancelled a few days ago because they couldn't fit the dishwasher today.
Muppets. (Would do better.)
We need a new dishwasher. The old one is at the side of the house awaiting collection by one of the rag-tag bunch of folks who collect scrap metal with no fees, no questions asked.
For fuck's sake, it's the 21st arsing century, how difficulty can it be to organise delivery efficiently? To spell things out before the customer presses the poxy button to commit to spending hundreds of pounds on…
Twats.
17 minutes ago I cancelled. 15 minutes ago I received notice of cancellation and refund. Just now, just fucking NOW, a text pops up to confirm I'd be getting a dishwasher installed a week on Monday!
When ordering food for other people or for myself and others I'm unlucky.
The modern world is set up to make things easy for those who would let others take the strain of food preparation: go out to eat, or pick up the phone or electronic device, speak or blindly stab at buttons until something vaguely resembling a meal is concocted, then sit and wait. And occasionally peer out of the window if within the comfort of home, as if that will speed up the delivery process.
In theory it's foolproof. But no. For when I get involved it all turns to sh…
It'll either have not quite what was ordered, or something completely random thrown in, or it'll be late when visitors need to go home right after the meal we've spent seconds preparing.
When we're out anywhere my wife knows to order for the girls and herself and leave mine to me. It all arrives exactly as ordered, all of it, even mine.
Even some colleagues now know not to trust me, especially since the now slightly-famous 'non-popped egg yolk down the front of the shirt incident' of September 2017!
Unlucky Baz?
It's late, the weekend is almost completed, and I ache from the successes during it.
We recently found out the dining room carpet was damp. Chastising our lovely female cat is out of the question so last weekend I sliced most of the floorcovering into conveniently-sized rolls and took them to the tip.
Meanwhile my wife had priced up a very fancy lino to replace the previous luxurious pile. Saturday was fitting day, so Friday after work was me shifting 2 bookcases, 2 CD/DVD shelving units and their contents, an overladen sideboard, and the stuff that builds up as one's loved ones live, all out of the room.
The herringbone-pattern wood block-effect lino is lovely, we won't have the peeing issue again, and most of the furniture and books and stuff is back where it came from. Did it fit right back again without much effort? No; the back of each of the CD shelving units and one bookcase required inexpertly hacking at to accommodate the change in height between the previous and required notches to clear the skirting board.
Yes, of course I've been asked to move one bookcase to replace the living room electric fireplace now donated to charity. No more convenient mug rest for me. (sighs)
I've participated in a small way during the pnut.io Hackathon Weekend. But I'm tired, I've already written too many words, so I'll blog about the wiki next time.
Zzzz…
Blogging.
Blogging.
Blogging, blogging, bloggingbloggingblogging … blogging, blogging.
Blogging, blogging.
Blogging.
…
Blogging.
Blogging?
Hmmm…
Blogging.
It's been an odd few weeks and months.
I'm looking for a bit of stability here. I'm finding some.