So what to report? Well if I told you what was really going on, I’d have to kill you. Or at least make sure that you didn’t squeal on me…
Of course, I am just being deliberately oblique in a sad attempt to make my life sound much more interesting than it actually is. Recent events began last week when the Missus dared me. You should never dare me to do anything because I might just call your bluff. And so as a result of this dare, we drove down to Plymouth and checked out a place. I am torn. Parts of it I like, parts of it make me recoil in horror, while the businessman in me sees the potential. I see it as a way of turning the two properties I own into a comfortable business. The future is very different to how I planned it, but if we decide to take this path it could be a very comfortable, if quiet, life. Oh what to do?
Plus the fact that the fumes from next door continue and despite the warning from the council no car parts have left the house this week. They have another seven days to sort their shit out, apparently. Again, if nothing comes of it and we are stuck with those ingrates using industrial solvents during the wee hours and the fumes seeping through our floorboards, then there’s few options left. Run away while I can still breathe…? Yup. What a cowardly fuck, I am.
So on the way to Plymouth I needed a pee and we were between services. So the Missus duly turned off into a field and let me get some air to my nether regions. This was about 9am in the morning and I am in the middle of nowhere (about 30 minutes from Exeter, maybe) and I am just in mid-stream, when a car appears from nowhere. Now it is almost impossible to stop when you are going with the flow, but with a gargantuan effort I stopped and adjusted myself and pretended I was just taking the air, just in time for the car to pass and some middle-aged woman to stare at me. After the car disappeared, I returned to the job at hand, but it is difficult to pee when you stopped yourself with such force. But I knew it was now or never, so I focused my mind and managed to empty my aching bladder. This type of thing has happened before when I needed a pee. You can bet that in a deserted side street or country lane, I’ll think the coast is clear and some old bloke will appear from nowhere, scuppering my plan for a crafty whizzle. C’est la pee, as they say in France.
Over the weekend, we bought the supplies for decorating the bedroom. The plan is that if we decide to sell up the house will look nice and my decorating efforts will add some value to the properties. If we stay, we’ll have a nicer looking house – so it is a win-win situation all-round. So I have been painting wainscotting (I love that word) and slapping my roller on the ceiling. Tomorrow, after finishing some writing work, I am hoping to wallpaper the bedroom. This fills me with excitement and trepidation. I am not too bad at decorating, but I pretend to be useless so that The Missus will leave me alone.
On the way down to the Westcountry, I spied Stonehenge. It looks much smaller in real life…

“Stonehenge, where the demons dwell
Where the banshees live and they do live well
Stonehenge
Where a man is a man and the children dance to
the pipes of pan”

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