Gertsamtkunstwerk

Ultimate Country Collection

This is the Double Album where C&W meets Mainstream. I bought it at a time when I realised my listening was dominated by so-called 'new country' - kd lang; Nanci Griffiths; Mary Chapin-Carpenter. A damn fine CD, even though it has never spurred me onto further exploration.

Most of the tracks are well-known, classics, maybe. As I listen, and lingalong, I realise that the genre for which my voice is best suited is Country and Western, which is very scary!

Notable tracks include Patsy Cline's I Fall to Pieces; Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash; He Stopped Loving Her Today - George Jones; Coal Miner's Daughter - Loretta Lynn; Lone Star State of Mind - Nanci Griffith; and El Paso - Marty Robbins;

But even though I can enjoy listening to the songs there are very few that elicit an emotional reaction, and even fewer that I would even consider for my Top Tunes. Except, perhaps, Stand By Your Man -Dolly Parton, Rhinestone Cowboy- Glen Campbell, Lucille by Kenny Rogers You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille Four hungry children and a crop in the fields. I've had some bad times lived through some sad times This time your hurting won't heal You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille

And then there is the all-time classic, Theme from the Dukes of Hazzard (Good Ol' Boys) by Waylon Jennings. Them Dooks them Dooks...

Tournament on

Typical me, I always take a lit time to rev up. I don't know why - all those poor footballing boys spend all that time in warm-up matches. Surely, as a loyal fan flying my St George's Cross on my bookshelves, I ought to have participated in the warm-up matches.

And I forget that a tournament is not really about England, but about all the countries. Fortunately, I now have a man living with me to steer me on the straight-and-narrow. For some reason we seeem to have adopted Group A as our group to watch. And, hey, what a turn up. Greece beating Portugal on Saturday - wuddya have believed it. Today, Greece drawing Spain - 2-0 Spain he predicted. Rubbish, I said, Spain are great-on-paper, crap-on-grass, always guaranteed to underperform, consistently.

And now Portugal have beaten Russia, who are definitely going home. I had a thought - wouldn't it be odd if Greece won - or even got to the semi-finals. but stanger things happened in the last World Cup. And in the year that Athens hosts the Olympics, stranger things could happen...

When we borked

In case you missed them first time round* - Embarrassment of Bodily Fluids Part 1, and Embarrassment of Bodily Fluids Part 2.

We also borked Tales from the Audit Trail Part 1, a series that ought to be continued...

* A note from your parents please, explaining why

Not my bodily fluids

Jean worked as a care assistant in an nursing home for older people on her year out between school and medical school (that's what real people do on their 'gap year' not swanning round the world to discover themselves /rant).

Dolly was one of her carees, and, as well as dementia, also suffered from late-onset diabetes, which must be controlled by a strict diet. Jean was concerned that Dolly kept talking about the nice chocolate she was eating. Jean quizzed the other care assistants, and Dolly's occasional visitors. All vehemently denied smuggling in chocolate. Slowly, the horrific truth dawned on Jean...

Tom drives a lot for work, and one day on the open road, finding himself in need of a pee, did what all men do, parked up on a convenient verge and took a leak into the hedgerow. Unfortunately, the relief relaxed other muscles, and he found himself in need of more than a pee. He clambered over the hedge, figuring that a squat and dump should not be done on the public road. He squatted, but no dump.

As it poured incessantly out of him, he noticed a bull across the field eyeing him interestingly. But the tap, once turned on, could not be stopped. The bull approached - fortunately, his bowels were already liquid. He finally had the dilemma of how to clean up, with the bull ever-approaching, before vaulting back over the fence and onto the next client meeting.

Scuba divers generally wear wet suits as an insulation against the cold. (Dry suits are a whole other, irrelevant, matter ). Caroline was on a live-aboard Diving boat with experienced members of her Dive Club, and a novice. The novice asked "If you need to go to the loo, what do you do?" One of the old timers replied "Just go in your wet suit". No real difference from walking out from the beach to pee through your bikini.

Happily they dived, and one-by-one they clambered back on the boat, divesting themselves of their wet suits, towelling themselves down, swigging from a much-needed beverage, disappearing to the primitive but serviceable on-board toilet.

Novice emerged from the water, hoisted himself onto the boat and stripped off his wetsuit, to reveal his body, and the inside of his wet suit entirely coated with shit.

Chest hair

It perplexes me. For a start I can never work out whether I find it attractive or not (as a by-the-way, I can't stand back and shoulder hair - if I had a man with that I would send him for a wax pdq).

I was involved with a man some years ago, who lacked chest hair. A mutual friend - male, gay - said that this was man was unattractive because of a lack of chest hair. I disagreed. Mutual friend went onto say that men don't grow chest hair until they lose a significant amount of head hair.

It must be said that many men I know with a decent amount of head hair often lack a chest wig. There again, I've known men with good head hair and thick chest hair, and other men with neither.

My fiancé has a very good head of hair (especially compared to his younger brother...), and very little chest or leg hair, although a sexily hairy stomach. He claims he lost most of his leg hair through delivering paraffin for over twenty years.

Discuss.

Carmen

This time last week, I was at the Colliseum for ENO's Carmen. To be honest, the reviews I had read were rather dismissive, so my expectations were quite low. I had quite forgotten that critics want performances worthy of years of raving, and bleeding edge production. Me, I want to enjoy myself. And I certainly enjoyed myself! I wrote an instant reaction at rec.music.opera, which I have reproduced in the Extended Entry below.

I would highly recommend Carmen as an opera to go for as a first one. The story is compelling - I currently have Mérimée's novella on my coffee table. The characters are great - Carmen, this wild gypsy woman who seduces Don José, who's basically a Mummy's boy. He deserts from the army, and joins her gang of smugglers/bandits as an outlaw. She bores of him and falls for Escamillo the glamourous toreador. Don José returns home to visit his dying mother, then kills Carmen outside the bullfight.

But best of all is the music. All of it familiar, some of it woven into the very fabric of our culture. There are great opportunities for the director and for actor-singers: when Carmen sings her seguidilla just before Don José is supposed to escort her to jail; also the second act duet between the main protaganists. These were reasonably entertaining but lacked a certain fire. I also totally adore the first act duet between Don José and Micaëla, but I think it was weak in this production.

Just generally, the music is so well written and so catchy, and, last week, I thought the orchestra was splendid, so it was impossible not to be humming it all the way home.

I have three different versions on video or DVD. I would say that if you only want one opera DVD in your entire collection, I would get Carmen, and I would get the film version.

They googled...

I haven't done this for ages. Fortunately, the majority are my search requests are sensible and relevant; a fair few more are predictable - you know that activity a bit like catting; and the inevitable fascination with Z-list 'celebrities'.

However, some of the more amusing ones:

• chicken pox fetish
• sanitary towel fetish
• celebrity breast fondling - there's only a very few celebrities I'd allow to fondle my breasts
• what do boobs look like? - how sweet, I bet it's some nine-year old boy
• pictures of beautiful tits - what, on this shite, shome mishtake shurely...
• chest hair laser removal
• I must go back to a winter vest
• Lawrence Dallaglio having sex
• Des Lynam transexual - nah
• How to get to Frimley Lakeside - I reckon you drive to Frimley Lake, but stop just short
• Bus seat hoggers mostly women - no, bus seat hoggers mainly men with a complex about the size of their you know who feel the need to sit with legs splayed
• reasons to hate Kiwis - too boring to hate

Reviews of Faust

Update From the Independent
Another- /Update.

From the Financial Times; Telegraph and Guardian

This will be shown on BBC2 on Saturday at 6.30pm (what a shame that Jimmy is having a serious blokes' night out...!)

To summarise:

For sheer eye-popping theatricality, this is a spectacle that outdoes anything you'll see in the West End. The Walpurgisnacht scene, over which Terfel presides in drag, begins as a parody of Giselle, but rapidly disintegrates into an orgy of sadism and rape. Funny, erotic and disturbing by turns, Faust makes for a compelling evening.

Antonio Pappano was in his element, making Gounod's music sparkle with effervescence; Antonio Pappano's fresh, buoyant and affectionate conducting inspired the orchestra to pellucid playing, putting paid to Gounod's undeserved reputation for lachrymose simpering; Only Antonio Pappano's overly Italianate conducting disappoints.

Angela Gheorghiu was in gleaming voice; Angela Gheorghiu makes some ravishing velvet noises and flings herself into the role with passion. But there was too much inaccuracy and sloppiness in her singing (she was heavily prompted), and her French is rubbish; Gheorghiu, unlike most Marguérites, is capable of encompassing both the lyricism of the love scenes and the horror of her subsequent descent into insanity.

Roberto Alagna rang out proudly on Faust's top notes; Roberto Alagna's Faust was marred by patches of bellowing and top notes sustained to the point of vulgarity. Some softer, easier phrases were beautifully done, however, and he, too, acted enthusiastically; The real revelation, however, is Alagna, who gives the performance of a lifetime, physically daring - he celebrates Faust's new-found youth by cartwheeling round the stage - and vocally and dramatically responsive to every psychological shift.

Bryn Terfel made a predictably prodigious Méphistophélès with voice and character to spare. Then the Walpurgisnacht ballet went over the top with Terfel's Méphistophélès throwing off his black cape to reveal himself in drag, dolled up as Queen Victoria's rugby half-back twin sister in tiara and sequined black evening-dress; Bryn Terfel's Mephistopheles was all the better for being so understated - a little rough in the first two acts, perhaps, but chillingly authoritative in the latter part of the opera. His dragged-up appearance as the Comtesse de Castiglione in the ballet was a show-stopper; Terfel sings with panache.

You pay your money, you take your choice - hold on, you pay no money. It's free on the Beeb or in the Covent Garden Piazza!

Interviews with Angela Gheorghiu and Bryn Terfel

Update - do feel free to leave comments - the stern warning at the bottom is to deter silly kids saying 'u sck' rather then shy, intelligent people elevating my thinking...!

Confession time

Oh god, it's all gone horribly wrong.

It started so innocently - a few sips of wine in the garden.

I received a text message, in Texan - Hey R yall going out 2 watch game?

So I commented that this is an American take on Euro 2004, and rang said Texan, inviting her to come round and watch. Jimmy's getting nervous, thinking it's some random American off the internet, until I explained that it was the lovely Megan Ph.D.

The wine seemed to evaporate. We started bottle number 3 just before the TV build-up programme started.

Then the room began to swim. HE advised me to turn it the other way, but it was way too confusing, with England having 22 players out there (and I think France did too). I spent five minutes, fruitlessly, hanging over the loo, before returning to the living room, but suddenly deciding that I needed desperately to open the front door and throw up in the front garden, just as Frank Lampard scored. Dearly beloved fiancé is making sarky comments about if I was in Portugal I'd be arrested for drunkenness.

The next thing I know, all is dark, and Immortal Beloved is saying something about France winning 2-1 and some halfwit called Beckham missing a penalty.

I think I just committed a crime against football...

But I look fucking gorgeous in my new England shirt!

Paedophilia in football

The advert break mentions "McDonald's - provider of players' escorts". I'm actually shocked - I would have thought that McDonalds, being a 'family' brand, would not wish to be associated with corporate prostitution.

But I'm sat at the computer, Jimmy in front of the telly. He says it's young boys.

I'm sickened. Really sickened.

Another straw poll

Update I'm leaving this on top on Friday, because I have a severe attack of bloghorea pending...

This is aimed mainly at non-opera lovers, although I am not excluding others. Who, in your opinion, are the most famous opera singers? Say some names - I'm curious, don't be afraid of being embarrassed. It's an open question, with no right or wrong answers (well, Celeine Dion would be a wrong answer, but she's only a right answer to 'Which singer would you most like to shoot?')

All change

Ha, so much for bloghorrea. I didn't realise until 12.30 pm that Jimmy was moving in, permanently at 4pm today.

Oh god, for the first time in my life I am a cohabiting woman.

I've read about people like me.

Blood Pressure

I am so normal normal. Apparently High Blood Pressure is above 150/90 whereas low is below 90/60. Over the years I have had a consistent 120/70 reading, give or take the odd digit.

The day before my shoulder operation ten years ago, the Consultant quizzed me on certain habits. I confessed - truthfully - to 30 cigarettes a day, and said that the previous week, albeit on Audit in Caernarfon with three Welsh rugby boys, I had drunk about five pints a night.

Measuring my blood pressure at 120/80, he said "Young lady, you have a surprisingly normal blood pressure for your lifestyle."

"So, if I gave up smoking I'd be ill...?"

He glared at me.

Today I have had it measured at 99/60. I am - allegedly - three stone overweight, smoke 40+ cigarettes a day, and am partial to the odd bevy.

Go me!

Police Raid

I've just been raided by the police! There's never a dull moment in Brixton, man!

Next door's burglar alarm was going off. To my shame I didn't think anything of it, because when I got in half an hour previously I could hear their TV through the wall.

The next thing I know, the police are hammering on my door asking if they can get through to the back garden of next door, via mine. So, of course, as the good citizen, I let them through and they climb over the dividing fence. Ooh, I must blog this I thought. My blog-readers will think that I'm a really exciting drug fiend.

Drug fiend...

Bugger, I'm supposed to be watering the cannabis plant.

How much chutzpah does it take to water the cannabis plant in the middle of a police raid?

Do I rock or do I kick ass?

Stupid things I think

I was sitting on the Tube last night between Stockwell and Oval, when I suddenly thought 'Am I wearing any knickers?' And I started to panic, and couldn't work out how to check whether I was.

Then I thought it probably wouldn't be the end of the world if I wasn't. Then I remembered that that waistband thing I could feel under my dress was probably knickers. And frankly - I wouldn't have forgotten to put them on, now, would I?

I have to confess, I did break the Under-rules last night. From time to time my maroon bra was visible above the lowish back of my pink dress. But WTF, everyone else is doing it...

And it annoys me when on the Northern Line they announce "The next station is oval." I kepp wanting to say - prove it, it looks more rectangular to me.

Don Carlo

Review of Don Carlo in Amsterdam.

Rolando Villazón sings the role of Carlos as well as any tenor around today, even if his loose-limbed acting is sometimes too reminiscent of early Blackadder.

I have previously seen him compared to Mr Bean! Oh dear.

Bad boy

Just been talking on the phone to my frind. She was saying that her Bad Boy nephew got arrested for selling a bar of soap for £30 to an undercover policeman.

"A bar of soap? What's that?" I asked, thinking it was some drugs lingo I hadn't previously encountered.

"Literally, a bar of soap," she explained.

We were trying to work out how to pass a bar of soap off as cannabis resin. Not your bog standard white soap, so maybe some coloured stuff from...Lush. But it would stink.

Shouldn't laugh really. Still, Friend's sister-in-law turned her son into the police in the hope that a spell inside would do him good.

It's too depressing, seeing this happening in so many families.

Requiem

Today was the funeral of Jimmy's father. There's a do going on down the pub, but I just had one pint and left.

Very impressive turnout - must have been nearly two hundred people there, particularly impressive for someone of 85. In fact, one chap was stopped by a passer-by and asked if it was someone famous. The procession of cars from Faithful Virgin to West Norwood Cemetery brought the whole of Norwood to a standstill. Of course, Jimmy and his sister and brothers and nieces were upset (I'm sure the sons and nephews were, too, but they aren't going to show it).

It was very strange seeing Jimmy's brother, Tony. I hardly know him at all. He turned up late for the Mass, so I didn't see him until on the way out. I had known in advance what would happen, but it was still a shock to see him standing there in the church, each arm handcuffed to a prison warder. Then, I was in John and Jackie's car, waiting for the procession to start off, and the prison officers escorted Tony across the road to the prison van. Needless to say, all the motorists in the opposite direction, and all the people on the bus all gawped. It's the sort of thing you see on the telly but rarely in real life.

At the cemetery, they let Tony be handcuffed just to one prison officer. Terry offered him a cigarette - ever seen anyone try to light a cigarette when handcuffed? And we shook hands, which was strange. After the burial, most people hung around talking for ages, because the longer we lingered, the longer Tony got outside - they weren't letting him go to the pub. There were four officers in all. I was chatting to a couple of them, asking them if do many of these. "No, thank god."

The flowers included a wreath in the shape of an Irish harp, Danny Boy played during Communion, and the final prayer over the coffin was

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Jimmy placed a tricolour in the grave, and the children and grandchildren threw in roses. Seven children - two dead; twelve grandchildren, including two who have come over from Australia; and four great-grandchildren. Some life - from driving De Valera in the 40s, to selling paraffin and ice cream to second hand furniture. Some life.

Faust 19 June

Interview with Roberto Alagna, due to star - with wifey Angela Gheorghiu (or Posh n Becks, as they are known) and Bryn Terfel aka Meatloaf - in Covent Garden's Faust, due to be broadcast live in a couple of weeks' time. (And if you have tickets, just SHUT UP).

Update: I have summarised and linked Press reviews.

Thank you for dropping by, I hope you enjoy the telecast.

Please do call back again - new visitors always welcome!

Strange feelings

He was a dreadful President, certainly as far as the World was concerned. And, oh bugger, I'm still stuck with the fucking Pope in the Dead Pool. But there was also bond between me Ronnie Reagan - we shard a birthday: would you believe he was 57 years older than me. Yet from the age of 13 through 21 every one of my birthdays was marred because it was his. Bastard.

Yet, there is a part of me that feels enormous compassion for the empty carcas of a man that existed for so many years, and massive for sympathy for Nancy - which, of course, is just symbolic of the compassion I ought to - but can't - feel for the countless anonymous individuals in that same frightening, living hell.

Lets hope his passing really upsets Thatch...!

Garbage - or do different rules apply to them?

Mark Lawson has it all wrong on the issue of Charles and Camilla remarrying. Let's ignore the sensitivities of his family. The theological issues are very clear.

The Church of England does not permit the remarriage of divorc&eeacute;s. So, although Charles is, in the eyes of the CofE, a widower, Camilla is a divorcée, and therefore cannot be married in a Church.

The CofE was considering, IIRC, permitting the remarriage of divorcées when it is clear that the new relationship did not contribute to the breakdown of the first - the Church of Scotland already permits this, which is why Princess Anne was able to marru her husband there.

But I think we all agree that the Charles/Camilla relationship contributed to the breakdown of Camilla's marriage. So they can't get married in the CofE.

I don't see a problem with a Civil Ceremony, myself. That could lead to the Disestablisment of the CofE, at which point I shall stop criticising their double standards. Until then, I have every right to call the Church of England a bunch of hypocritical tossers who are happy to break their own rules if people are important or rich enough.

Loons update

We're up to eighty comments on the thread dominated by illiterate halfwits. And that's not including the ones I deleted out of delicacy...

And now I've just got the divil in me and want to take the piss.

The kids of today, tsk tsk

It might be parody, but I fear not. Brad and Lydia's comments have to be read to be believed.

Despite the best efforts of Adrian, Sally and myself...

Leonard Cohen's I'm Your Man

A great singer-songwriter that features elsewhere in my collection, but not enough...

I bought this in my final year at Uni. I grew to love it intensely on interminable bus journeys between Dunkirk and Loughborough, where Paul was living. I was seeing Paul at the time. For many years I felt saddened that such pure music was a reminder of someone who wasn't worth it. He didn't like Leonard Cohen. I don't think Paul had a musical bone in his body.

Then I learnt that my memories were of the beauty of the English countryside - our relationship lasted from February to June, a time when the countryside changes beyond recognition.

Week after week I sat on the Barton's bus. There seemed so many different routes to Loughborough, it was like a magical mystery tour. I remember Sutton Bonnington (and Thrumpton and Gotham); Castle Donington and East Midlands Airport; and signs pointing to the unpronouncable Ashby de la Zouch.

The music even evokes the Barton's' buses. They were special, a throwback to an earlier age. Halfway between a coach and a bus, plenty of legroom and seat space, with an unforgettable and not unpleasant aroma. And vital in serving the outlying villages of Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire and Derbyshire.

And the music....

Running through the entire album is an ambience I struggle to describe: purity, light, crystal, a mountain spring. Perhaps its the keythat the songs are all in. Gosh, never considered that before. It's sunny and uplifting, but not jolly. Never accuse Leonard Cohen of jollity! If you took away themusic you would be left with astounding poetry.

This album goes into the list of my favourites. How can I single out a 'best track' from eight exceptional tracks? And I so wanted to be one of Leonard's Be-Bop girls!

I do not play this album often enough, even though I probably play it more than many others.
And the music is

Meatloaf

Bat Out of Hell II

You know even before you buy it that it's never going to approach the original Bat Out of Hell for greatness. Meatloaf definitely comes into that category of artists that I 'like quite a lot' but have never got into bigstyle. Apparently he's lost it - my manager went to see him just before Christmas and walked out it was so dire. And he had been really looking forward to it.

There's a very characteristic Meatloaf - strictly speaking Jim Steinman - style which appeals to me: the way each songs builds up to a climax and subsides. All of the songs on this album are good, but most are fairly forgettable. Except for I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That), which is one of the great Meatloaf tracks, as is Objects In the Rearview Mirror May Appear closer Than They Are. And the non-musical track, about when he murdered a Fender Stradocaster.

The Very Best of Meatloaf

One of those Double CD compilations it was mandatory to buy. Containing very many tracks that are, arguably, contenders for greatness. Or at least, classics. I started listing them, then thought, this is silly. there is not a track I dislike. Most of them I like very much, and taken together, are very very enjoyable.

Shamefully, Ihave to admit that my absolute favourite on the whole album is Home by Now/No Matter What. Shameful, because the music is by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Still, the lovely words are by Jim Steinman. My other favourite Meatloaf song is Dead Ringer for Love, but there's so many choose, it's difficult.

I remember when I was in third year at school, he was on Parkinson. The next day my middle-aged, Irish, devout Catholic English teacher was raving about him. I wondered to myself "Does she know that he sings about sex?" At the age of thirteen I'm not sure what was more shocking - the knowledge that a middle-aged devout Catholic teacher was into rock 'n' roll, or that she was into sex. At that age, teachers are like parents - you really don't want to think about it!

To conclude, I like Meatloaf 'quite a lot'.

Next up alphabetically, a colossal Double CD from, arguably, Britain's Greatest Singer Songwriter of the last twenty years. You will get this. I would wager you almost certainly have this in your collection. Anf if not, why not?

Ultrasound sex

Don't misunderstand me. I fully believe that a sexual relationship between a doctor and a patient is reprehensible and unprofessional, and often an abuse of power. I would say this particularly applies when the doctor is a gynaecologist.

However, the idea of an ultrasound while having sex is at least intriguing.

The best ultrasound I ever had was a penetrative internal one. I could see my ovaries and follicles on the screen looking really rather beautiful.

I would highly recommend it. Only to women, though.

Common sense

The Mirror advises on How To Turn A Little Devil Into An Angel

I'm torn, really torn, on this one. It seems to be so obvious, it shouldn't need spelling out. Every one of those tactics I have seen employed by relatives and friends with their children. Indeed, I have used many of them myself when caring for children.

But the evidence is clear that very many people really don't have a clue. So much of that basic common sense is missing. And I'm not even generalising - I see it round here both in the chavs and the 4x4 classes. And everything in between. So if just one person learns from this article, it has been worth printing.

Although I don't believe in turning children into angels.

Raw Like Sushi Cocktail

Never got it, did you - Neneh Cherry. Okay, a bit obscure. But she wasn't in 1989. I quite like this album, but I suspect that if it wasn't in my collection, I wouldn't miss it. Only one notable track - Man Child

The other side of the tape is Cocktail - Various Artists, from an uterly forgettable film, which was inexplicably big in my final year as a student. It annoyed the barman in my local no end, because he had been flicking juice bottles about for years, but now everybody thought he was mimicing Tom Cruise. The best song on the album is Bobby McFerrin's Don't worry, Be Happy, and the best song in the film, Robert Palmer's Addicted To Love is omitted from the OST.

Alphabetically next up is one of the great singer-songwriters of our age.

Get rid of trendy vicars

Psalm 23 has been rewritten.

No longer do we have

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

but instead we have

Even if a full-scale violent confrontation breaks out I will not be afraid, Lord...He lets me see a country of justice and peace and directs me towards this land...His "shepherd's power and love protect me

Incandescent, I explode into a million pieces and reassemble myself as Prince Charles, exclaiming If it ain't broke, don't fix it

He's moving in - I think...

It's nearly four years since we started 'going out', dating, courting. So many people ask the question 'why don't you live together?'. The answer - he was living with his father as carer. His father house was rented, so Jimmy is now homeless. Well, not exactly...

He arrived on Sunday morning laden down with all sort sof stuff, notably plants dug up to be replanted, cookery books, and bottles and bottles of booze. And a little desktop tidy, containing, amongst other things, corners of envelopes with stamps and postmarks of 1939 and 1940, addressed to WRB Jones Esquire 44 New Dock Road Llanelli.

I have now acquired garden furniture, and the clothes will be coming soon - I have to do some serious wardrobe blitzing. Soon the man himself will move in. At which point I will surrender and agree to a TV in the bedroom. I will also get some decent headphones, not those silly in-ear ones that come with Walkmans. He wants to erect a shed at the bottom of the garden for garden and DIY tools etc, turning the lean-to back to a utility room, with additional shelves for bottles and bottles of booze.

It's going to be strange.