Wednesday, 31 July 2013
Finally the house we wanted came on the market. It's a bit close to the town as you can see and is a flood risk, but one can't have everything. I'd love to have you all over for the weekend housewarming, but we're pushed for beds.
Idle is up to his ochsters in dust, boxes, spirit bottles less than a quarter full, ties he had forgotten about (some collectors' items from Hong Kong with appalling photographs on the inside of the wide bottom bit, as it were), and wardrobes full of clothes that he last managed to squeeze into a decade ago. Will any be thrown away? No. When the grim reaper starts clearing his throat I can see myself losing a few stone like my poor old Pater is suffering right now, and I want to avoid the mournful late-dotage look of a decrepit old gentleman in a collar four sizes too big for his shrunken neck. Same goes for kilt jackets, tennis shorts, lurid summer holiday trousers and cricket sweaters. I have unearthed a splendid collection of trouser braces that are a legacy of the 1980s City look. No, none of it will be binned; Lady Idle raises the eyebrow and curls the lip almost invisibly, but just enough to spell imminent danger and withdrawal of privileges. It is a risk that has to be run, however.
Three days after touchdown in the new gaff, we are off to the highlands to help them with their wildlife problem in the rivers and moors. Planned months ago, nothing one could do. Hurrah!
Enjoy the summer.
création d' idle at 6:54 pm