Today, the builders, who have now been doing important works on our (rented) house showed up unexpectedly. Theyd wandered off on wednesday last week saying that they might not be back in the morning, because there was another, very much more important job they were supposed to be on, and they would, almost certainly, return on Monday. On Tuesday we called our landlord, just to check whether we should be expecting builders or not, only to be told theyd be back on Thursday.
On Wednesday thats today, today is Wednesday I was having a shower after the gym when I heard the door rattling, and banging, and thinking it was My Beloved and Doozer returned from a walk with no keys, emerged from my shower wearing only a towel. It wasnt my beloved. It was the builders.
Oh! I said. They told us you wouldnt be coming until tomorrow!
Were not they said. Were just here to measure the skirting boards
But youre here! I squeaked.
No no, not today they said, hauling their tools through the open door.
I grabbed clothes from the bedroom, scuttled into the bathroom and, in a hurry, slipped over on a particularly ineffectual shower mat that we were talking about just yesterday (That new shower mat is very ineffectual, my beloved had said Yes, I had replied, it would be really easy to slip over on that if you were in a hurry), and landed with a large, loud BUMP on the floor.
I swore a lot.
Are you ok? shouted the builders Id never met before, up the stairs.
I shouted back. BUT YES. I DONT NEED HELP
And then I resumed swearing.
It was like one of those genre of films where tradesmen arrive in the middle of the day to find the lady of the house in skimpy clothing, and ribald shenanigans ensue. Except with no sex, and a LOT more grumpy swearing.
Anyway: I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, and I thought to myself In the good old days, I would at least comfort myself by thinking well, at least its blog material.
It is time I thought that way again.
Except with (sometimes) better stories, obviously.
But mainly with returning to writing and writing and writing for no recompense, and no real reason. I really again miss it. This time I am, actually, back.