Saturday again. Not that it matters when you hit retirement. Six Saturdays and one Sunday every week.
I ache in every fibre of my being. Why? Painting. Chubby Brown put it well – after making love to his wife he said “Who ever invented f*****g wants decorating…”. “That’s not what you said yesterday,” replied the long-suffering Mrs Brown, “you said whoever invented decorating wants…” – you get the idea. It seems these days I’m doing a lot more of one and a lot less of “the other”. Ho hum – one downside of growing older.
PJ is our next-door-neighbour who asked if a fancied painting the outside of his house. Yes, I really fancy doing all that painting like a hole in the flipping cranium. Needs must. The terrible thing is that I when I am remunerated I will have enough cash to buy the paint for our house. Yippee.
PJ’s solarium (roof-terrace to the uninitiated) is just the same as ours but I didn’t realise how vast, huge, gigantic, humungous the darn thing is. It’s amazing the huge amount of brush/roller work there is involved in making the place look nice. I have paint everywhere – it doesn’t half pull when trying to remove dry paint from a moustache.
One or two of the other local, semi-professional handymen have been giving me sideways glances. Fkm – I need the cash more than they do.
I try to type to the time of “my music”. At the moment “Hit me with your rhythm stick” is blaring out and it’s a great tune to type to.
I rekindled an old friendship a couple of days ago. A very cheerful chap who I worked with a few years ago. That’s my second rekindling in the past month. Welcome back into my circle of friends to John Keelty and Graham Millard. Graham is from Featherstone where men are men and so are the women – sorry mate – I didn’t mean your Pat.
Graham knows how annoyed I used to become when someone spelled my surname with “ee” instead of “ea” so whenever he sent me any correspondence through the Coal Board’s internal mail my name was guaranteed to be spelled wrongly… and vice versa of course. I know it seems childish but it raised many smiles. Millard can be spelled a lot more wrongly than Beach. Wellard, Millstream, Millpond, Imard (me), Mellard, Millward… you get the idea.
Anyroadup – I’m off outside ‘cos it’s a lot warmer out there than in here. Just a little anecdote from my schooldays…
I travelled to Goole Grammar School by diesel train from Hensall for my secondary education. One day, in the never-ending winter of ’63, the Snaith kids got on the train for one of the to exclaim “Bloody hell it’s colder in here than outside…”. Immediately a young lad called John Sykes (aka Zeke) said in his slow drawl – “Well oppen t’winder then an’ let some ‘eat in.”