I had not been down to our old house that many times since Clint took up residence and I had not been over its door since he moved his furniture in. But that changed the other day. To tell the truth I was reluctant to look back in case I was filled with sadness and regrets. Clint has made the house look very different. To my surprise he has made it really attractive. Less cluttered, more masculine, light and airy and fresh looking.
Although the house looks different now one thing remains the same, one thing I miss a lot, and that is the view of Slemish and the Antrim Hills from the bedroom window. Clint has chosen this room for his bedroom and I was surprised to see that he sleeps in a single bed. A single bed? For such a big man? Clint is about 6’3” tall and while he’s not fat he has the build to suit his height. I teased him about this saying a single bed would be no good if he were to entice a woman home. He said there was little chance of that. Clint is a bachelor although not ‘confirmed’ but his courtship techniques have become rusty through lack of practice.
He had asked me round to look at some really old curtains left over from his old house and I was keen to see them after seeing those plant pot ones go for £77 on Ebay. There was nothing of that calibre among Clint’s pile but I did get a rather pretty patchwork quilt. Just what I needed too – another patchwork quilt.
And speaking of Ebay – I’ve been stroked twice. The last time I was Ebay-spreeing I got everything I paid for and now this time two vendors have not sent the goods. You might put it down to the post or whatever but these sellers didn’t even answer my numerous messages. Perhaps they died? I suppose that could happen. But it would be odd if the two of them died so close together just as I’d made a paypal transaction for them. Then a friend of Swisser’s works in a sorting office in Belfast and he has hinted that thievery is rife there. That’s a very depressing thought.
I’m still sick. The Big Girl’s Blouse Flu progressed from aching throat, to thick green snottery, to chest pain, to dry hacking cough, back to snottery and on to weepy depression and the loss of the will to live. Then I caught myself on and phoned in sick. I’m that over being Another Martyr For Oul Ireland.