Welcome to my perfumed garden

And nothing is being done! ::cue manic laugh::

Man.

Yesterday, as we left Dad's house and I was carrying a brace of heavy bags out to the car, something - some bloody bastard of a thing - went in my left side, around my bottom-most ribs. It wasn't too bad. I thought it would get better. It didn't. It got worse, so by evening I was in quite serious pain that I dulled with wine till bedtime, but I've had a horrible night and am in worse pain than ever and...

Shit.

This has put a serious cramp in  my plans I have to say. Mark's busy, moving boxes to the loft and shifting the heavy furniture around up there. He's going to do the stretchy stuff and paint the skirting and coving, I'm going to rest my aching, aged self for an hour or so then attempt  the plaster-skim in the spare. Then I can touch up the ragging in the bedroom. Luckily today's schedule was pretty light anyway but dammit!

I was going to go for a swim today, too. And the weather's vile.

But the reviews for Hamlet are great (cheers up momentarily)! And James May's been filming a new Big Gay Wine Tour with Oz! There is light in the world, children, if we but seek for the cracks in the gloom. ::laughs like proverbial drain::

OK. Back to m'coffee and the gloom...

I  forgot to buy filler. Mark has ventured out - Gods, it's awful out there, crashing rain and wind a howlin' down the chimney like some old Blues singer.

I've helped Mark shift stuff as best I can, nothing major, just all the nick-nacks (OK, I freely admit , I don't trust him to move the precious things of the shop. If he'd damaged my Venezuelan paperweight there'd be no telling what I might do). I've wrapped everything in bubble-wrap and boxed it carefully, moved pictures and mirrors and plaster images of de sun and de moon (lawks a lawdy, I have some weird shit in my house! hee!). Shifting the furniture - mostly inherited, mostly Victorian, all of it solid and very, very heavy - that's his department. Even shifting the blanket bags has done me in and I'm sitting downstairs, nursing coffee, contemplating crumpets, resting the injury.

::flails fists and wails at the sky:: Why have you done this thing to me now? Heck, it couldn't have happened at a worse time though, with one eye on the news, my own petty concerns have faded into quantum insignificance .

Anyway, Mark's back at B&Q, next door's cat has come in out of the rain. Thus ends this update.

High on Solpadene and Radio Four, I have tackled the spare room which is now pleasingly skimmed with some Polyfilla stuff that does the job of plaster without the angst and pain of the actual horrible powdery red-stuff you mix in a bucket and gets everywhere and... yuk. No. Polyfilla-stuff's a dreadful price - but nothing like as dreadful as employing a bona-fide plasterer. To paraphrase Father Ted, it takes the misery out of plastering a wall.

Mark has sugar-soaped the bedroom and we're now good to go with the painting tomorrow.

My back feels loads better - not sure if that's the result of the stretching and bending or just the Solpadene. Time will no doubt tell.

So I'm all showered and shiny and back on the sofa. I suppose I should start thinking of rustling up some dinner in a bit but not until I've got on the outside of a glass of much-needed wine. (o:

I just signed up to Good Reads. I'm Gilly over there, in case anyone would like to friend me? (o:

ETA: I'm now GillyP. I hope that helps.