Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Sunday
On my ideal Sunday I never leave the house. Even the garden is too far. The corner shop is a journey not to be contemplated. On my ideal Sunday I start the day around noon with a light hangover, which gets steadily worse as the day goes on, rendering me by early evening useless, devoid of energy, crawling back to bed. Plans made to achieve things are abandoned. The evening meal comes on a bike.
Not so today, when a horrific two hour spell found me first in B&Q buying paint, then in Sainsbury's shopping for food and toiletries. This is uncharacteristic behaviour. But our house is a dump and needs fixing. We have lived cheerfully amidst its squalor for eight years, but now we need to brighten it up, because we hope to sell it. As for Sainsbury's, it appeared that by some oversight, there was nothing resembling a perishable substance in the house. For the weekend, a deal was struck. On Saturday we would go to Oxford, look at some art and drink beer, but only on condition that on Sunday we would do these grim things.
It was an exhausting business, undertaken on the hottest day of the year, but we stuck at it, and at the end I felt virtuous, and strangely normal. This is what normal people do. I then threw away the momentum by doing precisely nothing for the rest of the day.
As an aside, as we were going about these chores, we saw seven men with no shirts on.
Not so today, when a horrific two hour spell found me first in B&Q buying paint, then in Sainsbury's shopping for food and toiletries. This is uncharacteristic behaviour. But our house is a dump and needs fixing. We have lived cheerfully amidst its squalor for eight years, but now we need to brighten it up, because we hope to sell it. As for Sainsbury's, it appeared that by some oversight, there was nothing resembling a perishable substance in the house. For the weekend, a deal was struck. On Saturday we would go to Oxford, look at some art and drink beer, but only on condition that on Sunday we would do these grim things.
It was an exhausting business, undertaken on the hottest day of the year, but we stuck at it, and at the end I felt virtuous, and strangely normal. This is what normal people do. I then threw away the momentum by doing precisely nothing for the rest of the day.
As an aside, as we were going about these chores, we saw seven men with no shirts on.
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