Check your bulbs
Daddy Shortlegs walks crookedly through the new kitchen, tutting about the unfinished floor and wincing and puffing on each step as his shingles play up (one of his legs is now double in size and looks like the spotty donner kebab in our local chippy window) – he’s not one to suffer in silence. Not that there is much silence at present. The workers are back in next door and banging away from 8:30am (don’t make up your own stories!). The heritage skip is still outside the house – now grade 3 listed as it has been there so bloody long. Daddy Shortlegs wants to know when all the work will be finished – as I haven’t any control on the builders in my own home, I have no idea how to predict the cowboys next door.
Later, I pop into his room to make sure he has everything he needs – sitting like a terry towelling clad Miss Haversham, he doesn’t notice I am behind him for some while, then takes another five minutes to find the remote control (cue furious muttering despite the bloody thing being absolutely in front of him and at arms reach!). He placed it there but obviously it is a free range remote control and likes to roam, grazing on the crumbs of toast he seems to manufacture from the very pockets of his dressing gown… there are toast crumbs about even when he’s not had any toast.
Despite the glorious sunshine outside, he has the curtains tight shut as sunlight would affect the TV screen and god forbid anything should destroy his enjoyment of Highlander and SGI. He has a fan heater on full blast and I sigh at the sight of four lamps burning away all now with ugly naked bulbs as the shades blocked the light – who understands. I move around to talk to him and notice he has his own ugly naked bulbs dangling about as he is sitting sans cullottes. Weeuughhhhh!!
To take away that image here is a photo of next door’s builder checking his own bulbs are ready for Spring! Perhaps he’s on the phone to Charlie Dimmick about his dangly water feature?
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