We're away to Roscommon town tomorrow...unless Argos turn up on the doorstep with T and Reuben's futon...though we'll probably still go even if it arrives. I thought a futon was sort of posh...but it's like a sofa bed actually. Hope it'll go through the door of their shed...and through the little gate leading to the shed...
I have to go to Roscommon town 'cos I've nothing to wear...and I do have a chest full of clothes, I'll admit it, but nothing warm. I'll qualify that a bit further and say I've no warm trousers to wear and I'm tired of slopping about wearing two pairs of pyjama trousers even if they are fleecy and I would draw the line at wearing them out...when the sewing machine delivery man came I hopped behind the gatepost...
And Roscommon has the very cheap and cheerful store of Heaton's and another one called Dunne's which is slightly more upmarket, but I daresay the clothes are still made in Chinese and Indian sweatshops...
On the whole Irish people are not in the least snobbish...until it comes to shopping in Heaton's when they'd much rather you didn't know they'd bought a bale of towels from there or that rather nice fleece jacket they were wearing last time you saw them...it's fine to shop at Dunne's though...they happily 'fess up to buying all their nightie's from Dunne's or the outfit for a wedding.
I loathe buying clothes...loathe it with a passion. Nothing ever seems to fit properly...because I buy cheap stuff...can't be doing with fitting rooms...don't like old ladies clothes...hate anything that's tight or fitted. Everything has to be loose and cotton otherwise I itch and scratch and get nasty places on my legs and arms and being on steroids makes my arms bruise anyway...even worse when I start scratching...
So I mutter under my breath and swear at low slung jeans and those horrid Crimplene trousers and wish I could afford cashmere sweaters and pure cotton trousers and could find bras without stiff wires that dig in and lacy knickers that actually covered up the bits I'd like to keep covered instead of buying a pack of one size fits all that only a Nun would consider wearing...
And anything I wear has to have pockets...pockets are essential and pockets cost more...but I have to have a pocket to keep my inhaler in...and a hanky...and keys to whatever...and a Euro coin for the shop trolley...and an interesting stone I've picked up...and a couple of cup hooks and a nice bit of ribbon I've just found in a drawer...and I have to have pockets to shove my hands into when I'm talking to some-one otherwise they sort of flail about to make a point and it isn't until I see the person duck hastily that I realise what I'm doing...
I get side tracked all too easily as well while supposed to be shopping for clothes...lovely baskets to put stuff in...an ingenious kitchen gadget...a seriously pretty tea-pot covered in scarlet poppies...the sort of things that I honestly have no need for at all but are more attractive than a pair of black track suit trousers that'll go baggy at the knees after the first wash...
Don't mind me...I quite enjoy a bit of a grumble every now and then...