Thanks to Eno and Schmidt for providing me with some Oblique Inspiration in order to create some sort if strategy to my writing. Today’s is this:

Do The Words Need Changing?

Its fucking cold, all of a sudden, almost overnight, in fact literally overnight, and as I opened the front door a roar of intense icy coldness, not experienced this year since the start of the plague, and with a tangible sense of disappointment I realised this is going to be the experience most mornings from here on in. The house is freezing cold during the day, and when I light the fire the wrong paint which still seems to exist on the log burner, despite countless lightings, pumps out toxic fumes which everyone else can smell as I fall in to a drowsy sleep on the sofa. We’re moving house and the possibility of having to strip the paint from the burner rather than burn the evilness away seems a very realistic and probably unavoidable chore. The new buyers have a small child and dog, and whilst I unintentionally try to suffocate my family with toxicity maybe they won’t be so open to the suggestion.

The crown of stupidity was definitely won and worn by me when I got hold of the log burner heat resistant paint from a well known delivery company, only resistant to a certain temperature, which is not suitable for a log burner which burns as hot as the sun when it’s going. The advert didn’t make this clear to me as I looked up log burner paint, which would, one might suggest, be suitable for the job in hand. I was only trying to help and maybe the paint company may ask itself the question of  “Do the words need changing?” Come to think of it, probably not as they must take a number of duplicate buys form idiots like myself; really pleased at first for snagging such a bargain, then chuffed to bits for painting a couple of coats onto the log burner, and making it look really smart. Then slightly irritated at the smell as the paint cured, but not at all worried. Then very annoyed that the smell got stronger as the fire was lit day after day. Finally really cross that I’d bought the wrong paint after reading the instructions on the tin, but creating a new kind of manufactured rule as to how the paint will eventually burn off. Well its come back to haunt me now, we may be moving in less than 3 weeks and the thought of paint stripping the log burner is a hideous proposition which I really don’t want to entertain. If I ignore it, will it go away?

In other news, N is still wearing shorts despite the Arctic conditions, M is trying to get his house on the market, everyone’s moving now, it’s very now, you know, very “Not Quite Post Covid”. C has built an extension with her husband’s bare hands which I marvel at each time I drive by, really fits in amazingly. So we have now been waiting for over a week to hear how terrible or how good the survey report on our house is and if it has put off the buyers, who are totally in love with the place. It is really stressful, and affecting me in ways that I didn’t think possible, such as waking up early and becoming far too fond of strong continental beer and fancy IPA’s in large colourful cans, like some sort of supermarket magpie, looking for shiny rewards down the wine and beer aisle. Just want this week to be over, as I wanted last week to be over, just so we can be given concrete news, either yes or no. And I don’t mean news about concrete. Keep your eyes on this blog readers and sooner rather than later the results will be publicised, and my mood will adjust accordingly…

Plus I’m getting fatter…

Good night