Rulers

A trip to my flat in Tooting today, and at last I managed to coincide with a workman sorting the place out. Sadly, the carpenter had ‘phoned in sick’, but at least there was a painter there, and he appeared to be doing some painting, which was even more gratifying. I was able to spend ten minutes trawling through his colour chart in order to select roughly the same colours that were on the wall in the first place. He had been putting off his arrival, as he had chosen to disbelieve the plasterer who had confidently predicted that the floor screed would be dry overnight. Unfortunately, I had fallen for this line, and so my floor is now covered in crutch prints and skid marks. I guess it’s good to have some souvenirs of 2006 apart from the hideous scarring. As I left, I noted that somebody had festively chosen to lob their balding, decrepit Christmas tree into my front yard. One last act of goodwill, I suppose.

With any luck, the flat will be just about finished in time for my return to full time work, so gloriously failing in its primary function of providing an opportunity for child-free r&r when I have some free time. At least when I get to potentially spend some time there, it will be barbeque season, and I may have both hands free to flip the burgers. Maybe I should keep the Christmas tree; as fuel.

On my way back from Tooting, I stopped off to take advantage of WH Smith’s 2 for the price of 3 offer on flexible rulers. This followed an unfortunate episode when, during a particularly frantic scratching episode, I very nearly lost half a ruler down my cast. It was not a conversation with the cast nurse that I predicted relishing, although I bet they find all sorts down people’s legs. Remote controls, false teeth, gas bills. That sort of thing. The scratching is still a wonderful pastime, although there is the oddest sensation provided by the fact that sections of my leg still have no nerve sensation. Very bizarre.

William got back from hospital on Friday, with new tubing, and a decent helping of beans. He was pleased to be back, surrounded by his family and, more importantly, his Christmas Thomases. He spent the weekend deciding which episode of his Thomas DVD he was going to watch. ‘Bye-bye Percy run away...Hello Dadoot and Gordin!’ Repeat ad nauseam. His sisters, meanwhile, were preparing an elaborate dance routine for us. There were the predictable artistic differences, but they had fun, and it was a real insight into why the girls at those eighties discos of my childhood seemed ready primed with dance routines, whilst we boys just stood around, awkwardly plunging our hands into bowls of Cheesy Wotsits. Teenage-hood is just around the corner for Hope. She spent tea-time this evening on the subject of sex education. I made my excuses, and ate my apple strudel in the next room. I must admit that whilst it is, of course, life affirming to be surrounded by the enthusiasm of youth, it will be a relief to have at least some adult company when I go back to my temporary teaching job. And if all goes according to plan, my proper job beckons. Perhaps it is tempting fate a little to be going for a costume fitting for Madam Butterfly next Tuesday afternoon, when I’m seeing my consultant in the morning, and am still not allowed to fully weight bear. However, I’m told that the costume is a pair of ‘floaty trousers’, so perhaps I could even get away with a cast and pair of bamboo crutches.