He’s a troublemaker! Awful! Storming in on Mary like that. Hairy, philandering and German sounding although he’s Brazilian. He reminds me of Jedwed and that makes me angrier although I’ll never stop watching X-Factor.
Anyway, I’m onto my fourth mobile phone in a year which corresponds exactly to my number of addresses since 2006. Going back as far as 1995, I’ve lived at a number 114, 43, 31, 44, and 32.
My Samsung mobile phone was so hard to use I gave up and got a new one. That means complicated work with a soldering iron to get the contacts list back. That’s a joke. Actually, I’m very technically minded, and I find that restoring the contacts list for the fourth time, whether it’s saved to the phone or the SIM, is child’s play.
I just saw two jays in the garden. I don’t remember ever seeing jays before. On Saturday we did a lot of gardening and revealed parts of the garden that haven’t seen light for many years. Sunday was too wet for gardening, hence a rare bit of hoovering. Mundane but then a lot of things are.
Months on with the new house and expensive brand new parts, such as a loo and a sink, mean constant worries that they’re already worn out and broken. Living with something cracked and decrepit is much easier than having new. Living in a rented house is heaven in that respect. Every dripping tap, cracked basin, loose curtain poles, collapsing towel rail, windows that wouldn’t shut, steamed up double glazing. All music. But now nothing is relaxing. Even new things. Socialising with friends in the pub for the first time for ages last night was fun though. I ate too much, drank too much, spent up. What am I like?
The previous house owners took their dovecote with them wheeling it down the road using a sack trolley when they moved out. A dovecot is a white wooden house that doves live in, or pigeons mostly. But now they’re consumed with guilt and they want us to have it back. That means I have to go down the road with my sack trolley to haul it back. Can’t say I’m in a hurry to relieve them of a dovecote I don’t want. On the other hand, I could break it up and burn it on the stove.
Anyway, I not over my Wagner rage. I hate Wagner but I love XFactor.
Filed under: Social Networking Tagged: | duotrope, Fiction, social-networking, wagner, Writing, x-factor
