Brace yourselves, oh housemates of Much Malarkey Manor! It is two days 'til panto time and I am about to launch myself into some VERY important planning. I shall be taking myself off to the East Wing to do this (Olly is currently making some alterations to the West Wing - I know not what exactly but the noise is horrendous and I am pretty sure I saw Primrose and Camilla hefting a jacuzzi-shaped object up the back stairs between them a couple of days ago...) and I shall be wearing my bestest frilly white shirt in the style of all the greatest wafty writers of yore. You know - Hilton, Jobsworth, Smelley and the like. I shall, however, be eschewing any kind of opiate-based stimulants for a nice slab of fruit cake and a gallon of Lucozade.
Went to sewing class yesterday. As per usual, Sonia and I giggled our way through the next thrilling stage of stumpwork technique - laying a cordonette over our cordonet and applying wire if we wanted our shapes to be stiff (titter!) or not if we wanted them to be floppy (titter, titter!). Sonia wasn't really in the frame of mind for delicate needlelace work - she'd been in a car accident and there was a lot of faff about insurance claims and stuff, made even more irritating because she wasn't at fault. She even had to be cut from her car by some lovely firemen.
'You don't mind so much if it's your own stupid fault,' she said. 'But when you are driving along minding your own business and some idiot rams you from behind and shunts you into another car, well...' And she swore a bit, both at the idiot driver and her cordonette which really was NOT behaving AT ALL.
Anyway, we cheered each other up, basically by behaving like 14 year olds and not the 50 year old grannies that we are. Sonia is a prolific producer of textile art. She roars in, unafraid to experiment, make mistakes and break the rules. I admire her for that. I am neater and can do detail, and she admires me for that. We think we ought to form a mutual appreciation club. We agree we both learn from each other. And come the zombie apocalyse we shall be ready with our picots, slips, needlelace, French knots and padding. They won't get passed us, those zombies.
I am awaiting a visit from a carpenter chap who, hopefully, will put a cupboard around our new boiler. The boiler is in the space occupied by the old one but is almost half the size. Therefore, there is a lot of mess around the edges in the form of, well, I'll show you because I am running out of adjectives to describe it...
...and basically, before it starts irritating me and I start throwing rocks, it needs hiding. I am thinking a 'ceiling to work top' cupboard which will give me a space about 18" beneath the boiler, a space for storing stuff. It'll be a warm space so I am thinking 'pant storage.' Warm pants for cold Winter mornings. A mini-airing cupboard. In the 30 years I've had a home of my own I've never had an airing cupboard. Always lived in water tank-less houses, you see. By the same token this also means I've never suffered the horror of a leaking/ burst/ corroded water tank which, I understand, can be a nightmare. Nor have I ever suffered a dead pigeon in my water tank. Perhaps that is the pay-off for no airing cupboard.
Enough of this drivel! I am off to buy a last Christmas present. I know what I want and where to get it, so that Ninja shopper in Maidstone this morning will be me. In/out/bish-bosh...DONE!
Curtain up on Tuesday, then? See you there!
'Oh no you won't...
Oh...I think you'll find you will.