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Saturday, 30 October 2010

In which I meet my favourite ever customer...

Act One - Scene One
The action takes place in an Art Gallery somewhere on the Barbican...
The exceptionally glamorous in-house artist/salesperson/general DB is poised at her easel creating yet another masterpiece...
The door opens and in lopes an old git...
OG - I am 'aving a bowel operation next week.
Me - Gosh how awful, is there something I can do for you?
OG - No it's all organised at the hospital.
Me - (ploughing same furrow, with beatific grin on chops, and gritted teggies)
Anything in the art line, then?
OG - Can you give me an insurance quote? A picture fell off my wall onto some antique vases and the frame is all smashed up.
Me - Do you have the picture with you?
OG - No. I'm having a bowel operation next week.
Me - Do you have the size of the picture?
OG - I can't carry it I'm having a bowel operation next week.
Me - Do you know what kind of frame you want?
OG - It's an old one. Can you tell me how much it would cost?
Me - (Indicating our frame samples) If you'd like to choose one and tell me the size of the picture I'll give you a quote.
OG - I want an old one.
Me - (again motioning toward our frame samples) Is there one there that you like?
OG - How much is it?
Me - (losing the will to live) I can't tell you how much it will be unless you choose one and tell me the size of the picture.
OG - I'm having a bowel operation next week so I can't bring it in.
Me - If you let me know the size and your choice of frame I'll give you a price.
At this point I went back to my easel and smashed my head against it until I passed out.
When I regained conciousness Old Git had gone, presumably to have a bowel operation.
Act One
Scene Two
The action takes place in the very same gallery...
In strides a geezer
G - I want that picture in the window.
Me - I'll get it out for you.
G - How much?
Me - £520
G - Cash alright?
Me - Choice!
Result
The curtain comes down.

Friday, 29 October 2010

In which I am fed up with moving, not moving etc...

I know 'times is 'ard' dear reader, but, really, I ask you, bugger my 'at and all that - THIS IS A SODDING SHOP. YOU COME IN - YOU BUY STUFF - I DON'T BUY IT FROM YOU. If one more person comes in here with a ghastly print that they've 'ad under the bed for years' and 'is it worth anything' I shall chin 'em!
Just to make today even more effing wonderful, I put in an offer on a divine little cottage in a cute little village along the river. Following some toing and froing they got me up to the asking price, so I cancelled all other viewings for today and arranged to see the broker yet again. Then - and I can't sodding believe this - I had a call from the agent to say that the vendor wished they hadn't marketed it at that price and wouldn't move unless we payed another £10,000! SO THEY WON'T BE MOVING THEN. I don't care if it's the only house in the whole entire universe I will not be blackmailed. I hope they get deathwatch beetle in their willies!
So, with permission from 'she who must be obeyed' and with me having sold the most stuff this week, I am closing early and shearing to look at somewhere else. Wish me luck dear reader...

Wednesday, 27 October 2010

In which I sulk in the dungeons...


And so dear reader, we are stuck in the draughty castle for yet another winter! I can't believe it!!!!!!!!!! Bloke has dug his ample heels in and said no to an offer that is but a few groats short of the required hand changing amount. Still, nothing to do with Lovely One. Castle owned by Bloke and the elusive, soon to be ex, Mrs Bloke number two. According to the prospective buyers the roof is coming off, the moat is clogged up with effluent and there are coypus in the dungeon that would frighten their ghastly offspring. They really were the most annoying, uneducated riff raff who were embarrassed by one of their progeny who liked to read etc instead of mindlessly pulling wings off cats or whatever they do for fun!
Anyway darlings, the upshot of it is - Lovely One remains in limbo. No home to call one's own and no, oh elusive thing of my dreams, SECURITY.
I see Bloke's point, re house, but nonetheless I was looking forward to leaving here. I am of the opinion that life is short and if a solution pops up out of one's handbag, one should grab the blighter, whatever, and plod on through life's tortured path. Anyhow, as I whined, Nothing to do with One, and One's comments are not permitted, or solicited, on the subject, so stalemate, I believe it's called!
As for gallery, utter shambles as usual, but Lovely One plodding on like a thing possessed, producing masterpiece after masterpiece for dear little S to frame. Preview evening is in the Elburton Gallery in Plymouth, 39 Springfield Road, on 26th November. Do come and buy all your Christmas presents. Bloke says no one will come as I don't have any friends. And I expect he's right since no one has been to see me in deepest Devon and I've been here a whole year as of yesterday. Yesterday, 26th October - one year ago - Left Wivey, Vile Husband's birthday, divorce final, deserted one and only Boy, abandoned Tigerboy, best cat in the world. Got what I deserve One might say, and One would be right. Fancy, me thinking I could have it all at my age - stupid old bat! Stupid fat old bat! Arse shrinking again by the way - goodo!
Anyway, must sign off - Stinky dog just farted and left the room, and I must away to the studio and bribe dear little S with chocolate cake pie to frame yet another MP.
Off to see Boy on the morrow...

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

In which I my equilibrium is off centre...

All who are lucky enough to be aquainted with dear little self will know that One is a cheery sort of specimen prone to smiling, giggling and general bonhomie to all. Well, let me tell you, darling readers, I could bite a nail in half today! I am up to the gunnels with house selling goings on, and it isn't even my house!
Stupid people wanting to buy this gaff have huffed off due to one or two minor points mentioned in survey. The fact that they have had twenty bloody two thousand pounds knocked off the price has evaded them and they are miffed in the extreme!
Ok, so there are one or two porous roof tiles in the west wing and the moat is riddled with Russian pond weed that's strangling me pet newts. Well, and every time one plunges into the bath the entrace vestibule fills up with water. What of it?
Anyway, suffice it to say, they've legged it pretty sharpish so that's that!
So now, off we go again, and even as I type there are another two prospective inhabitees giving the old homestead the once over.
The fourteen year old 'estate agent' is taking a back seat and directing all enquiries to Lovely One. Money for old rope springs to mind.
Have taken my flat off the market and given my tenant a bit of breathing space until after Christmas. Don't really want to say au revior to the Malthouse anyway. I know I probably won't ever live there again, but I do love it, nonetheless.
On an entirely different tack, what about those Chilean miners?
I do feel that the extensive counselling that they're receiving for being holed up under ground is rather odd given that is what miners do - hole up underground. Anyway I expect they'll be living off their stories from now on, so good luck to them. The most interesting facet of the whole story - geddit, hole story, is that they were fed a healtht diet during their incarceation in order that they would fit into the escape pod.
This has given Lovely One a marvellous idea...
I am investigating the possibility of being sunk into the ground and force fed salad and the like until I can fit comfortably into the tiny little house we'll be able to afford when we finally offload this millstone.