Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Batchelor Pad

“Do you want that ironed?”
In an instant the reflex inner voice whispers Double Take
The alert level shifts to Defcon 4.

Then I remember that she mentioned wood last night and the inner voice debates Round House, curiously appropriate in the circumstances. She Of The Townhouse has been threatening to work on one of these for some time.
The boy and I leave for the workplace.

I do what I do.

All day there is this nagging doubt in my mind as I listen to the background chatter. Not the repartee of the staff room I hasten to add. I meant the secret word triggers in the stream of consciousness. She is up to something but I lack intelligence.

Eh? Oh stop being silly, you know what I meant.

All day long I feel the threat of thunder from a clear blue sky.
As I come in through the door Asbo gives me the most hangdog of expressions. I can tell he is feeling that he has let me down.

Upstairs I find that my bedroom has been invaded by a low tech wardrode. A wardrobe made of recycled scaffolding planks and an old hessian sack.

As usual she has made an incredibly good job of it.

1 comment:

Carnalis said...

good-natured acceptance is the way to go, and never mind the splinters.