Saturday, 17 December 2011
One of the highlights of the British winter is black ice, which on tarmac looks identical to wet tarmac. Consequently, while walking the pooch this morning I marched merrily out of a puddle onto the ice and fell flat on my back. I must've lost a few minutes because an elderly lady who was in the distance when I fell was standing over me when I opened my eyes. She didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. I have bruises everywhere but the dog thought it was great fun! He loves it when we get down on the floor nd he can reach to lick us. Another ow! Himself has decided to put a loft access in my writing space. I can understand the sense of it. When the plumber plumbed in the radiators on the top floor he made life easy for himself by putting water pipes across the other loft access so we can't reach anything that is stored up there [the man was an idiot]. So yes, it's a job that needs doing. But I wish he'd used dustsheets. Now I have books, papers, PC etc smothered in gritty Victoria plaster dust and bits of loft insulation, and a big hole in the ceiling through which a deluge of icy air streams and warm air wells up. I'd probably be more amused by this if I wasn't sore and achey and still a bit damp with dog spit.