“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.”
To a Mouse by Robert Burns
Our flat is still not sold.
The whole experience has been super duper weird.
It’s been re-painted, re-floored, re-bathroomed, re-priced, sorted, tidied and be-flowered, re-agented and re-photographed to within an inch of its life, and still barely a jot or a tittle (or if you prefer the Greek, an ‘iota’) of interest from any self-respecting buyer.
“It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits.”
A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle
A couple of weeks ago, we sat on our terrace having a socially-distanced drink with a friend.
“Summer in England sometimes feels a little bit like living inside a Tupperware,” he said. “Days and days of muggy greyness, the air thick and still. Then all of a sudden a bit of sun peaks in, as though someone has briefly opened the Tupperware lid.” Continue reading Old Blighty
I took a metaphorical key out of my pocket, turned it in the lock and pushed the now-slightly-warped door open, wiped my feet on the mat and walked in. The air was a little stuffy, but I opened a window, drew back the curtains and breathed in the familiar smell of home. Continue reading Honey, I’m home!