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Turns out I don't much want to leave the house just now. Ordinarily, first day after a bank holiday, with the Lit & Phil open again at last, I'd be shooting down there first thing - but no. My house is my space at the moment, so I stayed home and poked around.

Only then I did have to go into town, for a physio appointment; so away I went, pining already, with many a backward glance. And suffered much ouchie, as my physio tore at my muscle fibres like a ravening tiger (does anybody still say "tigress" these days, or has that gone the way of actress and authoress?)(and indeed undergraduette, tho' I'm not sure that was ever used in seriousness; I know Harriet Vane reviled it even back in the thirties).

And then came straight back home, to find that workie-people had entirely taken away my railings in my absence. It's okay, they were supposed to do this (actually they were supposed to do it last week, but there was a "breakdown in communication") - but I'm not sure they were supposed to leave the gate, standing lone and abandoned 'midst the devastation. Nothing about remains, but I did still walk through the gate in order to approach my door; it hath a most consoling squeak. I would post a photo, if I could only find my camera.

I miss my railings. This was the only house in the street that had 'em; I'll have to learn to stop describing it as "the house with the railings". They will be replaced, but then every house will have them, and the same will be true. You have to watch out, or the world makes you unoriginal. Fond as I am of boxed sets and uniform editions, I don't particularly want to be reissued in a matching cover my own self.

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desperance

June 2017

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