Take our wall, for example. Now completed, we have been given a beautiful bespoke piece of architecture by Kernowstone, led by the competent and amiable Mark Libby and incredibly hardworking offsider Joel. However, the brick paving still has to be laid, three weeks after the project began. Thus, we have ongoing issues with dusty Beagle pawprints all over the floors, the lounges and even on our bedhead, evidence that the Problem Child attempted to break out the high window. Ye Gods...
The result of time flying versus the relative snail's pace of our half-finished jobs has resulted in alternative decision making. We had hoped to be leaving tomorrow on our first expedition with Lily and Digger. We had planned an eight-day trip to familiar spots, to become used to Digger's foibles, his size and his manoeuvrability. This break has had to be postponed, but we aren't really that upset.
We have been delighted that, after three years, we are welcoming an ever-increasing stream of guests into the East End Gallery. Suddenly, I have much less thumb twiddling time. I have been trying to write this post for two days now, however, I am actually thrilled with every interruption. The delays in our out of doors work at Station House have meant our uninterrupted presence in the Gallery.
The autumn days are currently glorious. Not enough rain yet to satisfy the farmers, however, but I am sure that too will change in coming weeks. All the old-timers swear our reliable winter rains only begin towards the end of May.
The cooler nights have unfortunately caused my troublesome knee to resume its duties as an informal barometer. On Monday morning, arising from bed with a most unattractive limp, my knee uttered an enormous cracking sound. Due to this nasty circumstance and with our first caravanning adventure on hold, I have brought forward my appointment with the Boy Wonder. Hopefully, this rotten joint will have its last laugh in the very near future and I will have a spanking new knee with reduced pain and the ability to walk without swearing profusely. The Mother of the Groom has a date with destiny on 4 August. I refuse to be the Crooked Woman for this momentous event.
Finding ourselves with little on the calendar this coming week is a pleasant change. Monday and Tuesday are looking wonderfully free and easy. I may even get into Digger to begin some unpacking after all. Pip still has his dental checkup on Wednesday and I am hoping his behaviour at the vet's does not descend into the thrashing, snapping and the frightful use of diarrhoea as a chemical weapon. Wish us luck...
And I also need to return to Pilates. My recent attendance has been appalling and my aches and pains have returned with a vengeance. Thus, I hope to make an appearance at Wednesday morning's Pilates class in order to stretch my muscles, avoid farting and preferably not die.
Enough rambling. Time to close up and go home. There's a glass of vino and a pile of rubbish waiting to be burnt...you beauty.
Where is 2018 going?!
Ready or not!
Butter wouldn't melt...
in the Defendant's mouth.
Bollocks...
But I will be fighting fit by August!
And in the meantime, the Beverley Hillbillies are loving our Gallery!
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