There was a crash in the predawn. It was loud enough to get me out of bed. MasterB had knocked my wind up radio (one of the items identified as essential should London flood) onto the floor and it looks less than happy. I thought it didn’t work any longer. When Celia came round she looked into its innards, which is somehow a bit like looking into a brain, though neuro-surgery is hardly my field. She wound it up and hey presto, Radio 4 filled the room. I may have to cover it with clingfilm to stop it clogging up with dust, but should the rain continue to fall and London become the new Venice, I shall have my radio.
Other noises off before my alarm sounded were less disturbing. I noted them and went back to a sleep that had not been completely vanquished. Breakfast time revealed the photos in the sitting room were all flat on the table. The rug was a blue muddle. All the work of my own little home wrecker, MasterB. It’s good to know he is full of energy and vim, and as people describe my home as homely and lived in, it is hardly as though I have hotel standards to keep up. Though maybe MasterB fancies himself as a feline Keith Richards, a rock ‘n’ roll wrecker of rooms. I’ll watch out for the receding hairline diguised by a scarf, and strange objects hanging from his fur.
Actually one of my neighbours does have a flat that looks like a hotel suite. I hate it. When you first go in, it seems great, but after a few minutes it feels sterile, devoid of personality, which is quite good in a hotel room, but not in a home. I feels as though no one does anything there.
I’ll be in a hotel myself tomorrow night. It is the twenty-fifth anniversary of my professional association, so some of us are off to Reims to drink champagne. A tough life, but somebody has to do it.
MasterB will be looked after by the lovely neighbours. Barbara is already planning to spend evenings in the flat with her crochet to keep him company. Ioannis says he’ll stay home as I don’t have a television. I do, but compared to theirs mine is a postage stamp.
It was my last day of feeding Rosie. I still didn’t get great photos, but this is the best.