There is a light - In the name of Thiago - Day 324
The other thing that I tend to find is that if I fail to get out the house, I am less able to put into perspective setbacks that sometimes occur during the day. I managed to chat for a minute or so with one of the binmen at around lunchtime but there was very little else to speak of today.
It wasn't a good day I'm afraid but this is down to the pride I have in what I do. Although what I do amounts to very little, that's not to say that I don't want to do it well. It's both a blessing and a curse.
So what happened that was good? Well before I took delivery of my new T-shirt from The 12th man, my old mucker Nuns made light of some of my dark humour as he often does. Thank fuck that he does too, I might add. I'd commented that one of his messages seemed like he was about to break out into 'There is a light that never goes out' to which he responded that his version of that song in the late 80s was 'There is a lighter that never goes out'. I'll say this for my main man Nuns - his has unquestionably been a life well lived!
So about that shirt. I decided, after having a conversation on Twitter with one of the founders of The 12th man, which is a men's mental health community interest company by the way - as I explained in my blog last Thursday - that I wanted to make a small gesture to support the work that they do. It's a nice fit.
As Angelica's at work again all day tomorrow and Elisa will be at school, I think I might move my work day space out here. I don't know why I didn't do so today to be honest. If I'm starting to feel agitated, I can easily just step outside and breathe in some fresh air. Fresh air in the lungs - that's not going to do me any harm at all.
Angelica has done an amazing job sprucing this space up. Having spunked pretty much everything we had on this kitchen, we were looking forward to entertaining people in this space but of course that's going to have a wait a little longer now. Still I won't be the only one not being able to do all that much until Boris' jolly Easter he's got planned for us all.
Serves ten is what it says on that packaging. Does it fuck. That's two portions that have been purloined from it so far and I'm banking on there being no more than four more. Serves ten, my arse.
Still with a decent dinner and a slab of pud inside my belly, I can rest well this evening. The good lady and I are in a habit of retiring upstairs to see an episode of 'Roadkill' on iPlayer. Hugh Laurie is as always utterly brilliant. That man has an insane amount of talent. Comic, author, putter onner of accents, remarkable pianist, the list goes on.
Anyway, I' going to resume my love affair with dear Hugh now. Well, why not.