In our first episode, M was reflecting on the joys and otherwise of offshore living, and more particularly on Sunday, the traditional day of rest ….editor.
Now, where was I? Oh yes – Sunday, day of rest. (BTW if you’re like me and have goldfish tendencies when it comes to remembering, feel free to go back and recap.)
Sunday, the lure of a lazy day awaited. I contemplated on a sinful cooked breakfast with coffee, (no dairy of course, as it would probably instantly harden all the parts I don’t want hardened), and the promise of a blissful ‘no power tools’ day doing nothing in particular.
My Much Better Half had already nipped out to do some much-needed shopping after almost three weeks of rain and I unusually arose lateish (as distinct from latte-ish) at 7.30…am.
As I entered the kitchen, where bacon and eggs awaited, I noticed that the breakfast table and chairs had been transformed into something that looked like the undercarriage of a koala – and there was a distinct aroma of wet fur. Mould from the hideously humid, wet conditions of the past weeks (you see why the comparison is apt) had established a breeding colony on our once beautiful French antique furnishings.
“Man, I can’t eat bacon and eggs on that…or can I?
“No, I can’t!” After a short and unsatisfactory conscience argy-bargy, I decided that the only course of action was genocide. So, armed with a solution of 50/50 vinegar and water (helpful tips abound, so pay attention) I donned my facemask, gloves and eye protection to tackle the beast. It seemed everywhere I cleaned I revealed another part of the furniture coated in this furry alien green haze. The course of action was clear. This required a major masculine homosapienus intervention. Pull the whole thing apart, use brute strength and vinegar and kill the little furry f#@kers where they stand. (the only thing missing was the use of power tools. Unfortunately, it was Sunday so I had to disappointingly let that obvious joy slide)
Anyway armed with my plan, I dismembered the entire table and cleaned every nook, cranny, mouldy orifice and maw . Lo and behold ,a sweaty, dirty two hours later, the job was done. (and thanks to the universe and my incredible skill, planning (and luck), didn’t break anything)
“Now to bacon and eggs”…
The phone rings. It was my Much Better Half.
“I’ve finished shopping and need a hand. I couldn’t get an undercover park; can you pick me up from The Point please?”
“Of course, be there shortly” I replied . I hurriedly donned my suit of armour, secretly hoping shopping included some tasty morsel (a substitute for intimacy offshore), and headed for my trusty steed.
By M
(apologies to U2 and Penelope Gilliatt)