ganching

Pulling My Socks Up

Since going back to work after Christmas I have been incredibly busy.  I am working more than my contracted hours and I have been going out a fair bit as well so this doesn't leave much time to sort things out at home.  

The dishes pile up in the kitchen, dust has taken up longterm residence on the bookshelves and the laundry basket is overflowing.   I need to  pull my socks up or rather, sort them out, as there is a heap of mismatched, faded, black and grey socks that are tangled up in the drawer as well as an overflow pile in a basket on top of the chest of drawers.

How many pairs of blackish--greyish socks does one person need?  Traybake reckons he has 30 pairs  all carefully matched up and nestling in a drawer together.   I have no idea how many pairs of everyday socks I have - at least 25 pairs.  I also have walking socks and handknitted socks that are too good to wear and sockettes for wearing in the summer.  

On Thursday I decided enough was enough.  I went to M&S and bought 9 pairs of new socks, striped and plain, but with different coloured heels and toes to assist in matching.  I intend to dispose of all my other socks (apart from the walking and handknitted ones of course) and my life is going to be utterly transformed as a result of this.

My problem is what to do with the socks I am disposing off.  Can you take socks to a charity shop? I can't imagine that anyone would want them.  Ideas please.  Plus  what can you suggest for slightly misshapen greying white t shirts?  I could make dusters out of them but as I've mentioned above dusting isn't high on my priorities.  

This is why decluttering is so difficult - too many decisions required.  I will end up putting them in a bag and stuffing them under the bed for future consideration.

Questions Addressed To Inanimate Household Objects #1

What's your angle on this?

Do your joints ever hurt?

Do you mind that I liberated you from an office in North London?

Do you even know what a design icon is?

Can you shed any light on this?

 

Tread Carefully

When I got home late on Thursday from work there was a message on my phone from Kerry Sister. I thought she sounded a little bit upset but it was really too late to ring (they keep early hours back West).

I made something to eat and then wasted some time before checking my email and when I did I discovered the sad news that Scruffy had died earlier in the day.

I have very few photos of Scruff as he was much too dignified to allow himself to be photographed by amateurs.  Here though are one or two photos taken by better photograhers than me.  These two are my favourites.

I am not naturally a dog lover and became even less enamoured with them after being attacked by two dogs in Peckham one night.  The several  hours I spent in an A&E department waiting to have my wounds treated gave me plenty of time to think about it.  Really it's dog owners that I dislike - people who encourage their dogs to be vicious or don't clean up after them or don't make allowances for the fact that some people are scared of dogs.  

There are exceptions to my indiffernce to dogs though and Scruffy was one of them.  He was 13 so probably would not have lived for a great deal longer but he still had plenty of life in him.  He wasn't overly affectionate and was hierarchial in his affections - I was always bottom - but there was something very sweet about him.

He adored my b-in-l and, as soon as he came home, Scruff abandoned everyone else and stuck to B like glue.

On Thursday they went into the valley and started climbing.  B was higher up the slope than Scruff and dislodged a stone which went tumbling down and, in a one-in-a-million chance, it hit Scruff.  By the time B had carried him out of the valley and driven into town it was too late.

They are all very upset and, to add to their misery, there was further carnage in the hen house the following day.

Heartbreak all round.  I think they should get a new pup immediatetly.

Scruffy

 

Adore And Endure

You can tell how hipsterish a place has become by the number of waxed moustaches you see in one day.  My count today is two.

I had one of those days where you go from meeting to meeting and all in different places.  I am becoming very familar with buses in east London.  It is interesting but bloody tiring.

I have also had an exhausting time discussing poetry at my Lady Poetess class. It is a little bit intimidating as they are all very knowledgeable.  I have come to the conclusion though that having a Northern Irish voice puts you at a great advantage in the world of poetry as you could read the back of a cornflake packet and people would think you were the next great thing.

I am also a little worried that I haven't seen or heard from Traybake for two days.  I may have to break into his flat soon.

 That's enough trivia for tonight.

Now Winter Nights Enlarge

It was freezing in work today.  The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you cross for no obvious reason.  I work in a modern building with lots of exposed concrete and a heating/cooling system that blows air through vents in the floor.  On one of the coldest days of the year instead of blowing out hot air the system  decided to blast out icy gusts so cold that even the men were complaining.

After work I met someone who I know from my previous job and we went with him for a drink in a pub close to my office.  The pub had hipster wall paper and a bar man who couldn't understand my accent. I rarely go to pubs and am always slightly horrified by how much drinks cost.  The person I met has some influence in my previous workplace and I took great pleasure in telling him how unfairly I thought I had been treated there.

I still haven't warmed up and am in  bed with a hot water bottle and an extra blanket.

I have started reading Middlemarch.  So far I don't think it is as good as Anna Karenina which of course has the best opening of any book ever written.

 

Prickly

In case you hadn't noticed I have been trying to blog every day this month.  I fell by the wayside yesterday as I ran out of time.  With regard to blogging I'm not convinced that quantity is better than quality.

I have been rather prickly lately and find myself getting cross with people too easily.

On Saturday I went for a walk with some of my old colleagues from the job before my last job. There were four of us and a dog and I was the person who chose the walk.  

I don't normally go walking with these people and I felt a bit nervous about taking charge and worried about getting us all lost.  I decided on the Sevenoaks walk as it is possibly the only walk, apart from the walk between my flat and the station, where I know I won't get lost. I've done this walk at least half a dozen times and I am pretty confident about finding my way.  

We agreed to meet at the station a little bit later than I was comfortable with.  When I got there there was a message to say that one our party was delayed.  She turned up 15 minutes later and then we had to wait for the train so didn't get to Sevenoaks until almost 12.

Another person who, for the purposes of this post, will be referred to as Lady To The Manner Born, got her map out while we were still on the train and started trying to work out how we could change the walk route.  I found this unspeakably irritating but buttoned my lip.

The first half of the walk was fine.  It was a beautiful winter day, cold and dry and everything sparkling with frost.

Things started going wrong when we got to the lunch stop.  The tea shop was closed.  This was the opportunity Lady To The was waiting for.  She got her map out and began busily working out where the nearest pub was.  There wasn't much I could do about it.  We set off down a path which quickly led us to a small country road with heavy, speeding traffic thundering up and down it.  Lady To The led the way.  After 25 minutes of dicing with death and with no pub to be seen anywhere,  she headed off in the direction of a cluster of buildings close to an enormous mansion.  There was nothing to indicate it was a pub.  I hung back grumbling and making faces.  Lady To The had turned a corner and when I caught up with the rest of them she was deep in conversation with a security guard.  I don't know if he was armed.  It transpired that we were trespassing on the country residence of the Saudi Royal family.

We headed off towards a village which was another 20 minutes away down the same dangerous road.  To be fair when we got there the pub was lovely and the food was good but it was getting very late.  

After lunch, brandishing her map, we followed Lady To The through an exceptionally muddy few fields, until we finally got back on to the correct path.  I set off walking really quickly.  By this stage it was dusk.  We came to a T junction and I headed on but Lady To The called me back to check the direction.  I told her that it was straight ahead and walked on.  She stopped and got her map out to double check.  I could no longer hide my irritation and marched off not really caring whether they were following me or not.  Eventually we reached Knole Park and by this stage it was properly dark.  

Knole Park is very large and completely unlit.  After half a mile I realised we were lost.  I roughly knew what direction we should be going in but Lady To The wanted to go in a different direction.  We just started wandering about in the dark listening to creatures rustling in the undergrowth hoping none of them were rutting stags and by chance stumbled upon a road which eventually led us out of the park and into Sevenoaks.

At this point Lady To The annoucned that it was just as well we had listened to her and not me otherwise we would have still been lost.  I flipped and started shouting at her.  Discounting TB and SF and immediate family I haven't shouted at anyone for about 12 years.  I don't know why I did it and I didn't feel very proud of myself afterwards. 

The thing is I don't think she even noticed.  Next time I'll let someone else do the organising. 

 

 

Walking In The Dark

 Something I learnt today is that it is a very bad idea to go walking in the dark.

Happy Birthday To Me

Today is my birthday but I am too old now to celebrate so I am doing very little to mark it.  

This is my first birthday without my mother.  I thought about her this morning.  I was born really quickly. In fact so fast that they didn't have time to take my mum to the delivery suite and I was born in the ward before anyone really knew what was going on.

I never asked my mother if she was disappointed to have a third girl. I guess at some level she must have been but I will never know.

I got a birthday card from my mother last year two weeks after my birthday with a £20 note in it.  I bought myself a cake tin with the money although thinking about it I have only used it a couple of times.  

Yesterday a man at work told me it took him about ten years to get over the death of his mother.  I don't think it will take me that long but is still seems like early days.     

Home

I did something rash this evening. I cooked and ate a piece of chicken which was a day past its use by date.  

Traybake and Soda Farl came up for a drink after dinner and there was some speculation about whether or not I would make it through the night.  I had to listen to some tedious stuff about how sell by dates were just a marketing trick to make us even better consumers and how the odd maggot in a piece of meat never did anyone any harm.

TB suggested that I should consider making a will and then the two of them began eyeing up my possessions and deciding how they would divvy them up.  SF got in first and said he would have my sofa, and my table and chairs and my sideboard. TB wanted a couple of prints.

It is reassuring to know that if anything was to happen at least my furniture would find a good home.

I am very glad that tomorrow is Friday.