Day 254
Phew! what a lot can change in twenty-four or so hours. This time yesterday I was a miserable, sleep-deprived wretch who hated the telephone, and today I think A. G. Bell must have been some sort of God, and who cares about sleep, anyway!
Let us roll time backwards... (wibbly wobbly lines fx)
Steve had booked his Eurostar back to Antwerp for stupid o,clock on Monday morning, so this necessitated us getting up at 4 to drive to Bristol to catch the early train to Paddington. "We have to leave at quarter past" he said, leaving me wondering why he hadn't set the alarm for earlier then. As it was, we left at twenty past, as cleaning his teeth seemed the right thing to do (call us over picky, if you like, but that's us).
"What time is the train?" I enquired, as a speed trap flashed at us hurtling past. Quarter to five I was told. Yikes. It's always taken me half an hour to get to Bristol, but Steve does it every week and reckons it's twenty-five minutes. Now bend me over backwards and call me Susan, but I still think that is rather a small margin. Especially as he still had to get his ticket.
We screeched in, Steve hopped out, I waited.
After a while, Steve trundled back out of the station, having run like the blazes, and on the verge of a heart attack, but having missed the train by seconds, none the less.
So we drove back to Bath so he could catch the next train, at an additional cost of fifty quid.
When I got home I fell into bed to try and catch up on some sleep. The precious four hours I had previously got had been filled with dreams of the house being on fire, and having an intruder, then suddenly switching to Afghanistan, where I was being shot at, so not a restful night.
Woke up suddenly (like you do for certain, particular noises), as the cat had got trapped in the bedroom and was scratching around preparing to pee on a library book. Don't know which one of us was more startled as my half asleep body jerked to a standing position, screaming "don't you dare!". On reflection, I think it was probably the cat.
Checked my watch and realised I had twenty minutes to get to the opticians, so hurried along like a good 'un. Got there bang on time, to be told that they had phoned and left a message telling me not to bother early that morning. I, of course, had slept through it.
So I went home and ate some food and tootled about tidying up and such. Tried to get a bit more sleep in the afternoon, as still exhausted, when woken by the phone, where a pleasant sounding machine asked me to make a will. This was not me at my best. The pleasant machine may need trauma counselling, because I really let off a bit of steam.
I shall digress for a moment here to inform you that I have A PLAN!
It is this - I was moaning at the weekend about how many ruddy phone calls I get per week from Indians offering me things I don't want, haven't asked for and am perfectly capable of researching the variables of, should I wish to change. The latest was some scare mongering about computer viruses and the guy told me he knew what was on my computer and got very incensed when I pointed out that that was illegal, and constituted a breach of privacy, and could I have his supervisor please?
Steve advised me to just say "no thank you" which just shows how often he's had to deal with them if he thinks that would work. So my plan is this. They clearly don't know me well or they wouldn't keep calling me Mrs Dowltun (It happens so often I'm starting to wonder if someone else lives here), so they have no clue as to my nationality. This means I can adopt any accent I like - the more unintelligible the better.
So the next time someone calls I shall reply in a mix of scottish, welsh, geordie, and scouse, but with a lot of drunken slurring bleeding all the 'words' together. Something along the lines of "Aye well ah canna be oon verra sticky bin a loss gud neva eh?" should do it. What do you think?
So, back to yesterday. Sam was trying to catch up with his photography project workbook as it had to be in today, and was carefully cutting out contact sheets by the hundred while we watched 'Vicky Christina Barcelona' together. To be fair, he obviously has some dedication because he carried on working all the time Penelope Cruz was snogging Scarlett Johannson, and there aren't many men who wouldn't be dribbling.
I decided to help him by sticking into his book what I could before the Pritt Stick ran out, so he positioned everything up and went to the computer to finish getting his research material together. We left the TV on in the background as 'noise' but it was on the style network, which is all crappy programs about hairdressers and such. At two in the morning Sam requested a channel change, even though we weren't listening to it really, as he felt he had had enough style advice for one night (and probably one lifetime).
At four in the morning both the Pritt and I ran out of substance.
I had difficulty switching off and getting to sleep but managed it and slept for at least five hours. Got up, made a cup of hot lemon, ran a bath, fed the cat, hurled some celery at the guinea pigs, closed the door on the mess in the kitchen, went groggily to the bathroom and sank into blissful bubbles.
Phone went.
Jumped out to answer it and left a puddle of water on the end of Sam's bed as his is the upstairs phone. Silence on the other end. Oh well.
Back to the bath. Hot lemon, bubbles. Nice.
Phone went.
Jumped out, soggy bed, etc., etc., answerphone message from our handy man who'd lost the email address of our landlady. Resolved to sort that out later.
Back to bath. Bubbles pretty much gone. Water only warm. But nice.
Phone went.
Now it gets exciting. This time it was my old college. First thought was "What has Sam done now?" followed by second thought of "I'm sure I returned all my library books?" In fact it was a secretary asking my permission to hand on my phone number to someone who wanted to buy one of my paintings.
Hell, yes!
At our end of term show, two of my small paintings had been bought by the college as leaving gifts for two of the governors, and this particular gentleman loved his and wanted more!
Danced back into the back. Quite cold. No bubbles. Who cares? Inane grin keeping me warm.
Phone went.
Jumped out blah blah (Sam's mattress now needs a very big tumble dryer).
It was the gentleman in question, who shall hereto be referred to as Carlos (c'os that's his name). It seems his son did the same course as me, so he is a big fan, and he liked my work because it's full of colour, and he's Spanish. He even liked my motto, which is "Why use five colours when fifty will do". He has my picture in his study and his friend (who's getting married) loves it, so he'd like to get him something I've done as a wedding present.
Yes! I can do that. I can do stuff to commission too, honest. (dream sequence, walking on clouds fx).
Fell into bath after arranging a viewing of my stuff for later this week.
Phone went.
It was my friend Diane (I can't keep calling her 'the leper', can I) inviting me to a gallery viewing and a coffee tomorrow, and can I bring more of my book, as they must know what happens next. Which is wonderful, but not nearly as wonderful as having someone to share my news with immediately! I was so excited I was probably rude.
Gave up on bath after that - I shall smell instead. Who cares. I have a fan.
Yesterday I was tired, miserable, and uninspired. Today I am an up and coming author and artist. People like my work and want my work, which is a whole lot better than just me thinking it's good. I have a reason to clean the house, which I had been putting off for some considerable time, and plenty of adrenaline-energy to do it.
Twenty four hours,
.........and there it is - My New Life, peeking out after all.
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