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Fall-Through
Jun. 9th, 2007 03:42 pmI took a badly needed sleep this afternoon -- needed, and badly so, because I didn't get much sleep last night and because I am going to Mr and Mrs Harrington's this evening in the far wilds of Hertford.
So, I put together my stuff - mobile phone, camera, present, map and self-penned directions (because I am organized. I know where my life-jacket is when I am in a plane, and I know how to use it) and I went to sleep.
On getting up just now, I noticed that my phone was on the floor in the office. Weird, I thought. But, of course, what happened was that it rang and vibrated itself into a suicidal fall off the table. I wonder how many insurance claims there are a year related to mobiles vibrating themselves off ledges in some kind of suicidal lunacy, just because no-one gets to them in time to answer the call?
Anyhoo, the message on my voicemail was from Clive downstairs. After nine months of fucking around, the vendors of the place he was hoping to buy have decided to rent the place out instead. Cunts.
So, that's about as close to a fall-through as you can get. Nothing can possibly move until Clive and Debbie find a new place, so I'll be phoning the solicitor and bank on Monday to tell them that it's a fall-through. Maybe, in a few months' time, I'll start again, although I've become increasingly disenchanted with the thought of spending all that money. Especially as yesterday, partly because I was feeling a bit pissed off, I phoned my plumber to arrange getting a new bathroom fitted. I dunno, when you are young, and a bit pissed off, you buy a bar of chocolate or an ice-cream. Now I need to go out and buy a bathroom.
I bought Mr H a present and a card, since his birthday is somewhat significant (I hope people don't expect me to make a habit of this). But this morning I couldn't find the card, despite looking everywhere. Annoying.
But when I woke up I had a stroke of genius. I went to look where I might have put it. And, yes, there it was, in the fridge, between the packet of sliced ham and the pastrami. Where else?
My poker results on Fridays are universally bad this year, and I suspect that the main reason is not so much that the opposition is different, as that I am so dog-tired at the end of a week. After all, I do work eight hours, put in over an hour at the gym, spend six hours commuting and about eight hours playing cards. I'm bound to be tired by Friday. Perhaps I should just give Friday a complete blank until late in the evening, after I have had a sleep.
Bjork was on Later With Jools last night. Now, Bjork is difficult. Her music is challenging, and I'm really not too sure that I could listen to it too often. But I'm glad that she exists. Music needs artists like Bjork, who really seem to travel their own path, rather than, Rolling Stones-like, attempt to catch the flavour of the moment.
So, I put together my stuff - mobile phone, camera, present, map and self-penned directions (because I am organized. I know where my life-jacket is when I am in a plane, and I know how to use it) and I went to sleep.
On getting up just now, I noticed that my phone was on the floor in the office. Weird, I thought. But, of course, what happened was that it rang and vibrated itself into a suicidal fall off the table. I wonder how many insurance claims there are a year related to mobiles vibrating themselves off ledges in some kind of suicidal lunacy, just because no-one gets to them in time to answer the call?
Anyhoo, the message on my voicemail was from Clive downstairs. After nine months of fucking around, the vendors of the place he was hoping to buy have decided to rent the place out instead. Cunts.
So, that's about as close to a fall-through as you can get. Nothing can possibly move until Clive and Debbie find a new place, so I'll be phoning the solicitor and bank on Monday to tell them that it's a fall-through. Maybe, in a few months' time, I'll start again, although I've become increasingly disenchanted with the thought of spending all that money. Especially as yesterday, partly because I was feeling a bit pissed off, I phoned my plumber to arrange getting a new bathroom fitted. I dunno, when you are young, and a bit pissed off, you buy a bar of chocolate or an ice-cream. Now I need to go out and buy a bathroom.
I bought Mr H a present and a card, since his birthday is somewhat significant (I hope people don't expect me to make a habit of this). But this morning I couldn't find the card, despite looking everywhere. Annoying.
But when I woke up I had a stroke of genius. I went to look where I might have put it. And, yes, there it was, in the fridge, between the packet of sliced ham and the pastrami. Where else?
My poker results on Fridays are universally bad this year, and I suspect that the main reason is not so much that the opposition is different, as that I am so dog-tired at the end of a week. After all, I do work eight hours, put in over an hour at the gym, spend six hours commuting and about eight hours playing cards. I'm bound to be tired by Friday. Perhaps I should just give Friday a complete blank until late in the evening, after I have had a sleep.
Bjork was on Later With Jools last night. Now, Bjork is difficult. Her music is challenging, and I'm really not too sure that I could listen to it too often. But I'm glad that she exists. Music needs artists like Bjork, who really seem to travel their own path, rather than, Rolling Stones-like, attempt to catch the flavour of the moment.
