The fear of imperfection

Very girlie morning with a friend who's been having super-complicated men problems lately. There are lots of times I give thanks for the sanity and security of having been married to J for 15 and a bit years. We've been together for 17 years now - second marriage for both of us. I, of course, was a child bride first time :)

By our second latte and after a couple of cinnamon buns in Starbucks we were howling with laughter at her psychotic throwing away of his clothes in the middle of the night and quite well thought through plans to go over to his flat and castrate him with a pair of pinking shears. It's amazing how weird your thoughts can get in the small hours, during a PMT week - she's all better now; all she needed was female company and cake.



~~~~

J and I drove out this evening, to collect a bed frame we bought from an ad in the local paper. We were looking for one and I was intrigued by the description of 'light oak colour with celtic design'. When I rang, the woman who was selling gave me an address in South Bank . We were a bit (very!!!) put off as, despite it having been once a wonderful community Slaggy Island, as it was known by locals, now has an image of very run dowm housing and social problems. We've seen houses down there go for £5000 at auction and have not been tempted to pick one up for redevelopment because of all the problems in the area.
Anyway, we went over and found the house - one of only a few not boarded up in the street! 'Just keep driving!' I said. J parked up (where we would be able to see the car from the house) and we went in. The inside of that house was gorgeous! What a wonderful job she had done - woods, creams and browns; mirrors and leathers. She explained that the street was scheduled for demolition and they were being compulsorily purchased. How heartbreaking to have lavished so much time, effort and love on a house to see it torn down.

The bed: not 'oak colour', but oak. Not 'celtic design', but arts and crafts. And gorgeous. We snapped it up and it's sitting in the dining room waiting to be moved upstairs and assembled. A lesson there, I think.

One of my favourite folkies was originally from South Bank - Vin Garbutt.



I love his songs, but most of all his stories that go with the songs.