So, having lazed on the sofa and eaten (oh goddess was I hungry. I could’ve eaten a horse. Well, maybe not a horse, but an extremely large feta cheese / mixed veg wrap. That sounds less impressive though) I managed to locate the enthusiasm to find my cheque book. I thought it was on my desk, but I couldn’t find it there. Eventually, having searched the lounge and the bedroom I finally went through each piece of paper in the now nearly half metre stack of documents to be filed.
I reached the bottom and was a little perturbed to discover that I’d not found it. Finally I moved a notebook sat twixt the keyboard and the pile-of-documents-to-file; and y’know what? There it was. So anyway, the newly e-bay’d hob should be on it’s way to me. I need to collect the sink and the oven too (from Manchester area!) I also discovered that the doors I want are much cheaper from B&Q than their online prices suggest. Doh.
I discovered this because my builder rang and apologised, saying he’d not be here today. This is largely why he’s chosen. Although he’s rarely turned up on time (I can’t say about the days when he’s worked while I’ve not been here, actually); he’s fairly tidy and he also rings when he’s not going to turn up. In building terms that’s almost like being here. So anyhow, he’s coming tomorrow now (“Before 11”) which meant that my aching tired legs and I could go to B&Q.
The problem with walking to B&Q, as I discovered, while environmentally much better than driving is that when you discover the wheelbarrow you’re considering is a flat-pack, well, it screws with your plan somewhat. So I’ll have to make a separate wheel-barrow obtaining trip. I also need to sort through the left-behind stuff and pull out that which is hardcore and that which is just gunk to be binned. But the best thing about B&Q was buying weedkiller.
See, my ‘lawn’ (on the left at least) is basically weed. In fact, there’s almost no grass at all. So my mum recommended some evil nasty weedkiller to destroy the weeds before I dig it over, turf it over and call it lawn.
So, there I was at the till with my Fork, my Spade and my 3 litres of weed killer and the woman looked at me for a few seconds, held the weed killer and then said:
“Are you over 21?”
Heh. She looked quite shocked when I declared my 29itude. And then said:
“Well, you don’t look 29” in a cheery way.
I just grinned at her. Clearly, I am gorgeous and youthful. I suspect this is due to the careful care I take of my skin; washing every day with, uh, showergel and…bathing it regularly in fresh used engine-oil and grit. Also my routine of nights/lates/earlies which means that my body is constantly deprived of sleep is clearly the way to maintain a healthy young complexion.
I didn’t show her the grey hairs *grins*
