This morning I wobbled downstairs (I’ve not been well) to find the cats had torn down the net curtains. Either that or I’ve got a hefty ghost who likes to swing from the curtains in the dead of night. Ah well, I thought, at least whatever this bug is it hasn’t killed me yet. Net curtains are just another thing to add to the list. The actual hook that the net curtain wire had been attached to had been pulled out of the wall, complete with rawlplug.
A rawlplug, for those ladies fortunate enough never to have needed to find out, is one of the dullest tiny objects possible. It is a plastic fixing, often red, the purpose of which is to keep a screwy-type-thing in a hole in the wall. Except, in this case, it wasn’t.
Having manoeuvred my pliers from the back a drawer that only opens half way I had a half-hearted go at pliering the screwy-thing and split remains of the red rawlplug back into the hole in the wall and reattaching the curtains. It sort of stayed there.
Until it fell out again.
Then I came over all weak and sweaty and had to sit down for half an hour. I put on the TV whilst awaiting the next surge of energy: the Bank of England had decided to put the interest rate on savings down to 0.25%; the American basketball team didn’t like the look of the accommodation at the Olympic Games so they were being accommodated on a luxury cruise liner moored in Rio de Janeiro harbour instead, surrounded by guards and fences; according to a recent survey people were taking internet detoxes – going camping for a week, or on healthy hiking expeditions and so on – because they had realised they were hooked on their tech. I kept hearing that John Lennon song:
I read the news today oh boy
Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire…
After which I removed the net curtains from the window altogether and threw them into the washing machine for safe-keeping.
After which I closed the curtains to stop passing neighbours ever looking in again, even accidentally. Problem solved.
After which one of the cats was sick on the carpet. I contemplated it for quite a while. The sick, not the cat.
After which I did quite a lot of washing including the net curtains which I had forgotten to take out.
After which I watched three-quarters of Homes Under The Hammer followed by final quarter of Stargate – the episode where their future selves all get riddled with futuristic bullets in a heroic attempt to get a bloodstained note back through the stargate to warn their past selves not to come to this particular planet (I’d seen it before).
For the third day running there were no letters.
It was somewhat dark in the living room with the curtains closed, but not unpleasant.
After which I ate a digestive biscuit and a yoghurt and then wished very much that I hadn’t.