Landlady: Meals on wheels
I am relieved that the clocks went forward a few weeks ago. Not only does it signify that our lovely Brighton summer is on its way, but it also means that I do not have to change my clocks. I swear I’ve been meaning to change all the clocks in my house since they went back last October, but I’ve not quite got round to it. This is mainly because in order to do so, I’d have to balance precariously on a chair. Besides, one eventually gets used to almost having a coronary arrest in the morning when looking at the clock and thinking you’re an hour late for work.
In Scandinavia, The Cuban Boyfriend is an hour ahead anyway, giving him an hour head-start to buy bric a brac and old bicycles without any prohibitive intervention from me. My house is slowly filling up with old bicycle bits and chequered trousers (another favourite and not infrequent purchase), not to mention the ‘man cave’ suitcases full of ‘bargain’ roller-blades and car wing mirrors that sit idly in his bedroom in Havana.
He ought to consider building a shed in the garden to accommodate his hoarding habit
I tactfully suggested that he travel to Brighton with hand-luggage only, which curtails his ability to bring stuff and leave it in my house, yet unfortunately means that when he buys more items, he can’t take them home either, so has to leave them in my house. There seems to be no satisfactory solution, although I’ve told him that if he’s planning to spend more time here he ought to consider building a shed in the garden to accommodate his hoarding habit. I haven’t set foot in the garden for over a year and it has become something of a mythical place full of tramps, foxes and old Tennents cans, so a Steptoe-style hoarders’ shed should fit in quite nicely.
On the plus side, it is quite handy to have a man who can mend bicycles around the place. I cycle almost every day and often go out on the Downs for the whole day to enjoy a bit of solitude. Recently, I’ve noticed a propensity of badly-driven food-mule-mobiles carrying huge square boxes of takeaways, presumably to people who are so idle that they can’t be bothered to haul themselves off the sofa and get it themselves. Shameful! How apt that the logo on the bike-box puts me in mind of a V sign. And not for victory either.
