The plot thickens a little...Kevin the plumber says the bathroom wall...the one that separates the sitting room from the concrete blocks not stone...which means our cottage only had two rooms when it was built, not three as we thought. And that’s solved the puzzle of how the family managed to hold story-telling and dancing...because the main room was half as big again.
I used to think it must have been a terrible squash ‘cos our sitting room is only quite small...the thought of a coffin on the table while everyone had a knees up around it didn’t seem awfully feasible. Especially as the entire crowd would have been taken with the drink...
He’s very good is Kevin...turned up promptly this morning and began ripping tiles off the walls and such like...he’s built the base of the shower...concrete blocks around a hole full of gravel and concrete. Looks pretty grim actually, but he assures me once he’s done the tiling and put that stuff on the walls it’ll look altogether different.
The electrician is coming tomorrow to do the wiring for the shower heater... Bobby has spent the day under the bed because he hates the noise of drills and jack-hammers and Eilis has barked...Millie just went to sleep with her paws over her ears.
I went into my shed ‘cos it was warmer in there...having the back door standing open isn’t the best when it’s early March...Himself has acted as gopher which stops him from wandering about feeling he ought to be helping...Kevin gave him little jobs to do.
You’d have laughed though...he went into the roof space to fiddle about with the water tank and we heard him say ‘I’ve found two furry friends up here...have you got something to put them in?’ It was Roland and his brother...dead as door nails.
I did feel a little bit sorry that Roland is deceased, thought he’d been awful quiet recently and that was the reason why.
My breathing is worse...and I did keep well away from the dust though there wasn’t much and Kevin cleans up as he goes...he did close the bathroom door while looking at me anxiously as I gasped a bit.
I’m wondering whether to put it down to a ‘bad day’ or whether the steroids weren’t in a strong enough dose...honestly, at this rate I’ll be in a wheelchair with my legs wrapped up in a tartan blanket or one of those Granny Square throws in sickly pink acrylic made by well meaning members of some women’s group...
Jamie came the other evening to show us his new’s a rose just above his elbow...quite nice if you like that sort of thing...if I end up being pushed about and spoken to as though I’m an eejit, then I’ll get a tattoo. It won’t be a rose though...I’ll ask Jamie to design something totally outrageous for me. And I’ll have my ears pierced again even if they do go septic and ooze...I’ll just slap more TCP on than I did last time.
The kitchen is in a muddle ‘cos Kevin needed to get to the hot-press and the shelves in front of it are full of home-made wine...we don’t use the hot-press ‘cos it’s teeming with I think I’ll look extra helpless tonight and encourage Himself to cook the supper...