Athletic Bilbao, 2 - Surreal Madrid, fish.
Friday, January 7th, 2005 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanThe cold has kicked up a gear, and I am now a black belt in the art of snotti-sneeze-foo1.
I am treating this affliction with copious amounts of paracetamol, and then dousing by dose in dust2 and other gunk that pours off boxes I haven't moved in years, as I finish packing and sorting out the majority of the comic collection. Ten collector boxes were not enough, some remain in the photocopy paper boxes in which they have been stashed this many a year. Some in fact are hidden behind my CD collection, and in truth, I can't be fagged to shift that lot right now to get at the additional boxes. The bedroom and kitchen look like a battlefield wherein a Chinese laundry has invaded a bookstore as it is. There is a small, but functional trail from the door to the bed, and thence to the PC. Once the boxes of comics have gone, I shall be able to rearrange the trenches and make progress on sorting out which books and clothes I want to keep, and which are taking the long walk.
Once I've moved in at the other end, the Oracle informs me that investment in shelving and cabinets might be wise. I think he's probably right, if a little obvious.
For the first time in a couple of months, the Polish Brigadetm have been holding their meeting on the landing outside my room. It is the smallest landing in the building, and the furthest from the front door. Given that it is about one yard square, it defeats me why they must a) pick that spot, and b) converse as if they were calling across the Pripet Marshes in snipe breeding season.
I shan't miss that.
Time for a shower...
1Related, but not identical to the art of atch-foo-bless-u which is more of a performance art requiring audience participation.
2This is, of course, counter productive, but does allow me to blame the accumulated mank rather than a snotty little virus boogying
in my sinuses.
I am treating this affliction with copious amounts of paracetamol, and then dousing by dose in dust2 and other gunk that pours off boxes I haven't moved in years, as I finish packing and sorting out the majority of the comic collection. Ten collector boxes were not enough, some remain in the photocopy paper boxes in which they have been stashed this many a year. Some in fact are hidden behind my CD collection, and in truth, I can't be fagged to shift that lot right now to get at the additional boxes. The bedroom and kitchen look like a battlefield wherein a Chinese laundry has invaded a bookstore as it is. There is a small, but functional trail from the door to the bed, and thence to the PC. Once the boxes of comics have gone, I shall be able to rearrange the trenches and make progress on sorting out which books and clothes I want to keep, and which are taking the long walk.
Once I've moved in at the other end, the Oracle informs me that investment in shelving and cabinets might be wise. I think he's probably right, if a little obvious.
For the first time in a couple of months, the Polish Brigadetm have been holding their meeting on the landing outside my room. It is the smallest landing in the building, and the furthest from the front door. Given that it is about one yard square, it defeats me why they must a) pick that spot, and b) converse as if they were calling across the Pripet Marshes in snipe breeding season.
I shan't miss that.
Time for a shower...
1Related, but not identical to the art of atch-foo-bless-u which is more of a performance art requiring audience participation.
2This is, of course, counter productive, but does allow me to blame the accumulated mank rather than a snotty little virus boogying
in my sinuses.