Last year was supposed to be the Year of the New Kitchen, to be followed by the New Flooring, and New Sofa Covers.
For various reasons, none of those things happened. The kitchen continues to fall apart, the carpet has almost achieved antique status, and I drenched the sofa in red wine a few weeks ago. Going backwards and forwards to see Mother in hospital, check out nursing homes, and simply working, meant other bits of my little home were also neglected, and boy does it show. Continue reading
In a week when Vladimir Putin has been re-elected, you’d think I have more serious concerns than my sofa.
I worry about Putin. A lot. I have no doubt he is a bad man. His re-election is a mockery of the newly democratised Russia, and I fear for the Chechens, who seem to be the favourite target for his terrifying malevolence.
His love of portraying himself as a hard man, all bare chest and firearms, has brought many a smirk to Western faces, and rather like Berlusconi and Amin, we have been slow to take seriously the damage he inflicts.
Which brings me to my sofa. Drinking alcohol is obviously something to do in moderation. We are reminded to take at least two days off from it each week, and not to hit the bottle too hard. But a glass of wine with dinner is a little luxury at the end of the working day. Continue reading
The sofa has gone. Nearly. The council didn’t collect it, so it’s sitting rather forlornly in the street with a job number pinned onto it. If it hadn’t been so hard to take it downstairs, I might be tempted to rescue it.
It appears in so many photos of Cat and Not Cat that it would probably come up as a recognised face in i-photo if I looked.
Not Cat is increasingly sociable and is spending more time with me, also nicking my place on the sofa if I stand up!
Remember how I said I like a cat to have a thick tail?
A quiet evening at home.
Just me and Cat.
Me on the sofa, Cat in the box he’s commandeered.
Me reading the paper, Cat turning over occasionally.
We rustle companionably.