Blogging sometimes becomes tiresome. Tom came down on Wednesday for a late birthday meal (takeaway Indian), and then my daughter emptied all the different curry dishes into a plastic container, which Andrew forgot to take, so another job for me to recycle. Friday the washing machine in its dance threw the box of Teddy's biscuits to the ground, I went to pick it up and it tumbled down the stairs into the black hole of Calcutta, or the cellars. It has several rooms, one with hooks from the ceiling, it is also home to the various things that run this house, including a dehumidifier and pump, heating and electrics so various noises come up. My daughter is the only one to venture down, I refuse to go because of the electric cable that runs up the stairs.
Household wise I am in charge of the house and cooking, dog, youngest grandchild, and parcels, which come through the door at an unholy rate, half of which I miss! My daughter is in London visiting Matilda and Ben, and meeting up with Andrew to meet his friends. They took an early morning walk this morning, and questions came back about Ruskin in Brunswick Square and Effie his wife. Why must the poor man be remembered for not being able to sleep with his wife. When he wrote continuously in a fine vein. I just said in my text message - that his mum hadn't taught him about fannys but I think I got the wrong end;)
Well I haven't touched on the serious issue of what we might call 'war'. Do I believe it will happen? There is a lot of shield bashing at the moment, as Putin wants to establish his territories, whilst Europe diplomatically tries to talk him down. I will say nothing of Biden's tactic, which are slightly inflaming but only criticise him on taking the Afghanistan money to give to the 9/11 survivors. Fine he is happy to see people starve in that wretched thing call politics.
The whole thing about Ukraine at the moment is just best ignored for me personally - I can do nothing about it other than listen to all the rhetoric and watch all the strutting about by various'leaders' and hope nobody gets hurt.
ReplyDeleteAs for that cellar - sounds a nightmare - don't venture down - you don't want to be falling.
Refuse to go down the cellar Pat unless someone comes down with me. Not a place for my final end!
DeleteI heard a theory about Ruskin which was that he had spent so much time studying classical sculpture that when he first encountered pubic hair he was horrified. These days he would be alright with young ladies - or so I am told. My childhood cellars frightened me too. If my parents went away it was my job to go down and stoke the boiler. I couldn't wait to get back up again.
ReplyDeleteP.S. 'Stoking the boiler' was not a Ruskinesque euphemism...
DeleteThat was funny. We had a cellar when I was a child, it always smelt of apples because we stored them down there along the shelves. Great place for my brother and I to lock each other up as well. I expect Effie got her divorce because Ruskin had not 'slept' with her. He could be a boring writer, I once had the volumes of Modern Painters, but he was an intellectual constrained by sexual naivety.
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