So spoketh The Squeeze. All that talk about being an AV queen and setting up the electrics… what rot. The upshot: basically, I got real bored and wandered off to chip the paint off the door latches so they’d close properly. Truly. Well, I only did two doors before The Squeeze said (rather pathetically) “that was the one job I really wanted to do.” I did text him today to see if it was ok for me to do the electrics and he was cool with that. But the door latch chipping? Not to be shared.
So the television, he has electrics. More importantly, the airtunes is now G-O. So I have Leadbelly on, starting with my favourite song, ‘4,5 and 9’. My version has Willie the Lion Smith. It reminds me of… oh, I don’t know, one of those modern 60s artists like… Bob Dylan. Anyways, it’s a great song. I like it.
For the past couple of nights I’ve been in bed by this time. Tonight I am on the couch, making sweet, sweet internet. The Squeeze is off in another part of the house doing something rattley. There’s a large, loud plane labouring overhead, on it’s way to Marrickville and then the airport. I have cleverly covered up the second loungeroom powerpoint with a full (and very large) bookcase, so I’m getting lappy power from a too-tight cord, stretched from behind the afore mentioned telly to the couch. The coffee table is just a bit too far away to comfortably rest my feet. I feel I might have grown new heel bones. If Mz Tartan has new bones disease, so do I. But obviously a more exotic, northern strain affecting the nether extremities. I wish I knew where the sitting room cushions were so I could ease my discomfort. Meanwhile I have to balance the lappy way down on my legs, so my arms are stretched waaaay out.
There are many, many cafes in Summer Hill. But no hardware store. This is a Wrong Thing, and perhaps a sad indication of Worse To Come. To whit*, I have seen only one fabric store in this big city, and that was in Marrickville. Apparently Marrickville is the place to be. Like Footscray, but with hills and no trams. There’s a dearth of trams in this town, and I feel the lack. The roads are disturbingly narrow and tend to twist and turn a bit too much. What have they got to hide? I like a long, straight road that tapers off in the distance.
We have not had telly since we moved in, and haven’t missed it. What with all that going to bed early. But now we do. The Squeeze is in another room and doesn’t seem to have missed it. I’d rathe listen to Leadbelly yelling incoherently about someone’s momma. The internet, though, she has destroyed our after dinner conversation deader than ever telly could. It requires greater attention.
Another important thing before I sign off: I own three dining tables. One is a large chunk of pale pine that I took from the Parents in Brisbane and had dropped off to me in Melbourne on their way through to Hobart. I sanded it back. It’s large, hard and heavy, and you can stick it full of pins when you’re sewing. Earlier this year The Squeeze inherited a couple of dining tables from his grandfather, as selected by me (tables, not grandfather – though I would have selected him. He was ace). One is silky oak. One is… well, I’m not sure, but I’m suspecting some other sort of oak. Both are covered in a nasty dark varnish – the sort I’ve sanded away from many other pieces of hidden, beautiful native woods. I haven’t managed to sand either of these tables, though. Not in six months. But when we moved into this house, the removalists and I had a little discussion about the three dining tables, and where I should put them. Or have them put (they were doing the putting – I had the greater responsibilities of Directing Putting and Crossing Off Items on the master list). I decided to put the larger grandfather table in the (lovely black and white tiled floor) kitchen. It looks sweeeeeet.
Anyways, the other two are now in our not-very-secure garage (along with the bikes – cross your fingers and knock on wood for their safety, friends), waiting for me to make a Decision about them. I am considering making over part of a bedroom for a sewing room. That will require a table. But I’m not sure it’s worth it, seeing as how you can only buy your clothes ready made in this town.
…another note: when I’m at my most active, lifestyle wise, I have no time to sew, but run out of clothes as I get skinnier. When I’m at my least active, I have plenty of time to sew, but bemoan the expanding girth requiring new widths and elasticated waist lines.
*This is the first time I’ve used this expression. I am pretending it’s proper talk.
