Before I pen the second instalment of script “That Woman” – giving Con and GM time to go out and buy earplugs to blend out echo – a brief observation: There are projects which one regrets ever having started. Still, what goes in must come out as your mother will have told you on memorable occasion of you swallowing a button. Before Conrad takes my swallowing button as a four year old as further evidence let me tell you: What exactly? Crap, I now have two options, no three: I can stay in neutral and say something along the lines of how much it did NOT hurt against all expectation; I could observe that I am not as tight arsed as some (which being below the belt is a no go area); the third – being so enchanted by my own voice – I have now forgotten.
Yes, the project: Five weeks ago I started sorting out old photos. Since I never do anything by halves (such an unfortunate trait) naturally every work surface, including the dining table, has been covered in photos and old letters ever since, to be archived into a system as yet evolving. Before any dent could be made into chaos I succumbed to that mother of all swine flus, quickly followed by its piglet. It basically wiped out a whole month. Now I am in recovery. I am normally so full of beans I can’t stand this floundering. Head held high dragged myself to doctor in vain hope of instant cure who told me to take it easy and REST. What does he mean ‘rest’? It’s what I’ve been doing.
Anyway, in between wondering at the miracle of being that woman of no name, this afternoon I used pocket of sudden energy to blitz. Oh did I blitz. At least we can eat in style again. If nothing else.
Don’t you love bones? Jean, being a dog lover, will no doubt know what I am referring to.