Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

Where does the time go? My last day before going back to work is more than half over, and tomorrow it will automatically feel as though there's been no holiday at all. Ah well, c'est la vie.

Having spent much of the past fortnight elsewhere, I shall have to nip out to Waitrose later this afternoon and purchase viands¹ for the forthcoming (half) week. Basic fare is most welcome after the past couple of weeks, but when it falls to bread, butter and a few digestive biscuits, you know instinctively that it is time to do the shopping.

The Athenaeum Club is still distressingly tidy, and continuing in his phase of uncharacteristic domesticity, Beastie (colonel_maxim) has acquired a few cheap lamp shades. An unexpected development, but not unwelcome. It had not occurred to me before, but some of the rooms in the club had a distinct Stasi interrogation room feel, with all the bare bulbs on display. The downside is that I can no longer blow smoke at the light fittings, swing the bulbs and pretend that I am in the opening credits of an episode of Callan².

One of the side effects of this continued tidiness is that the last few stacks of oddities we have not secreted elsewhere tend to stick out like sore thumbs. In the (for want of a better name) utility room for example, we have four walking sticks, three rubber swords, two umbrellas and a crossbow: this is completely true, and the numerical progression is both pleasing and entirely accidental. Stacked as they are, behind the door, they now look untidy and at least one is taking damage. We need an umbrella stand, but it must be a big one to cope; ideally an elephant's foot. I don't suppose anyone has one? No? Well, there's a project for the new year.


¹As was pointed out elsewhere on this journal some time back, it is impossible to buy mere victuals from Waitrose. The Upper Middle Class sensibilities and/or aspirations of the John Lewis Partnership demand that at the very least their retail outlets purvey nothing less than viands, and some will not drop their standards below sweet-meats. For the lesser, bulk commodities, one is required to don carpet slippers and a headscarf and wander in to Sainsbury's or, Heaven forbid, Tesco's. Of course in so doing, life takes on a rather worrying League of Gentlemen slant, and we don't want that, do we?

²A number of my younger readers will not have the faintest clue what I'm talking about here: I suggest Google. Explanations spoil the effect.<sup>3

3</sup>D'OH!

Dragged my sorry arse out of bed just before midday. It was glorious: I really needed the sleep. Mind you, getting to bed at 3.30am after watching Downfall on DVD probably contributed to that.

Early afternoon, decided after seven months in the Athenaeum Club that I ought to register with a local quack. Beastie and I trogged down towards Finchley, it being nice enough walking weather, only to find that the buggers require proof of address. So I have to go back tomorrow to register. The irony is not lost on this opponent of ID cards.

Thereafter, wandered down to North Finchley; failed to obtain a Japanese calligraphy brush, but did catch the bus to central Finchley and bought a couple of games in readiness for the forthcoming GASP weekend.

Gad, what a life I lead. I need a lie down now until the adrenaline subsides...

And suddenly, I am out of time.

Day off for cricket, expecting to meet up with people from 2.30 onwards, but now, suddenly at 12.30. The loss of two hours is... awkward.

Never mind; do shopping now, and then down to King's Cross, I guess.