WHITE FRIDAY

All I want for Christmas is ….. coal!  Ooooooh, babyeeee!

 

Gimme coal

For once I’d rather be on the naughty than nice list as then I’d be in line to receive a much desirable lump of coal.  With several thousand little peccadillos to confess to over the past 11 months, surely this must add up to a least a hundredweight of the precious black stuff by now, right? 

No gift cards, toiletries, fluffy bed socks for me this year – I’d even go as far as passing up the box of customary chocolate brazil nuts in exchange for several tons of slow burning charcoal to put in my new stove.  Okay, step away from the brazils, maybe that’s one concession too many…

 

My favourites

Whilst credit cards rev up on the sidelines ready for this weeks’ Black Friday shopping extravaganza, I’m busy fishing through the knicker drawer looking for thermal socks to prepare for White Friday, that chilly time of year when a smattering of snow sends the nation crashing into an icy vortex the likes of which we won’t stop complaining about until next July.  And then some. 

Special offers in this year’s Big White Friday sale include 20% off heat-seeking Tofu-eating Wokerati PJs, buy one get one free ticket to Equatorial Guinea and free gritter with every purchase of Kinder eggs.  

Hotter than July

These are the kind of bargains you really can’t afford to pass up.  Yes, that’s CAN’T AFFORD for those of you suffering from that little diagnosed condition called Money Blindness. 

Money Blindness is a cognitive condition that causes difficulties in perceiving and managing your own wealth often leading to penury, punctuality challenges (especially after you’ve pawned your watch) and planning issues (ducking out of social commitments you can’t fund).  

Sufferers of MB are to be socially prescribed scratchcards by overpaid consultants said a spokesperson for NHS England with about as much compassion as a used teabag.

My advice – if you ain’t got paid then don’t be swayed!  

Keep warm folks.

GETTING PLASTERED AGAIN

As Storm Ciaran batters West Sussex hot on the heels of Storm Babet, our lounge is in a tempest all of its own as the plasterers have descended en-masse and are scooting round the walls of the diner like whirling DIY dervishes.  I’m currently hiding upstairs in my bedroom keeping Bertie company.

 

Stripping the ceiling ready for plastering

It's a messy business

With all this damp weather perhaps now is not the greatest time to be getting the walls/ceilings re-skimmed but I’m sick of looking at all the cracks, crevices and craters that have become a regular feature of life since we moved to Chichester three years ago so we’ve bitten the bullet, ransacked the coffers and strong-armed the trades into ‘getting us done’ before Christmas.

 

Fed up of derelict decor

This is but part 1 of a two-part saga, with the lounge to be booked in for next year when hopefully the biblical floods have drained away.  No man is an island but parts of Bognor Regis have recently become one!  At least we now know our new soakaway is working, all garden rain water having soaked away efficiently leaving no trace of surface water.  The same cannot be said about Bognor Regis or even Hastings who are currently knee deep in the wet stuff!

Click & Collect?  By dinghy only

Plastering is not as easy as it looks.  I’ve got to admire the speed, dexterity and smooth finish left by our plasterers.  I’ve iced many a cake over the years but have never attempted to transpose those cake decorating skills to spreading plaster over a wall.  The technique looks similar albeit executed with larger palette knife/trowels and there’s no covering up one’s mistakes with a bit of extra buttercream. 

 

Before

After

Worse thing about fresh plaster is the smell.  It’s a cross between a wee sodden nappy and mouldy old feet.  And nobody likes wee sodden nappies… Ugh!    Then there’s the dampness.  It’s amazing how much water is contained in wet plaster.  No doubt my achy joints will be on arthritic alert later on and I hope there won’t be too many literary casualties as I’ve left most of my books on the bookshelf, only the vintage editions have been boxed up.

 

Before

After

Surprisingly, Shelby has slept through the whole ordeal despite her tortoise enclosure having been moved from pillar to post in the process of clearing out the diner.  

Oblivious to the mayhem around her

Lucky for some.  I’d love to be able to just wake up to find everything’s done, dusted and just ready for a springtime paint job.