Saturday, August 20, 2011

Builders and Brides

There are tantalising glimpses of Spring in Sydney, great wafts of jasmine as I walk the dog in the morning and blossom appearing, however it is still feeling wet, cold and windy a significant proportion of the time. I tell you this not just to give the online weather report for this particular Australian outpost but so that you can visualise the continuing devastation of the former garden now known as the stalled building project. There is a large heap of earth that has been there so long that grass is beginning to grow on it and a giant metal beam has become such a permanent feature that I am expecting the dog to work up a gymnastics routine upon it.

I rang the builder last week to try and ascertain what his thoughts on the next step were – polite code for “Where the bloody hell are you?” as it had been over a week since brawny men had last been spotted on site. His wife picked up his mobile and rather cagily announced he was ill and unable to speak to me. Being a nasty cynic I had a vision of him sitting on the sofa making get rid of her faces at this point. However it now transpires that ill is actually an understatement, he has a badly fractured skull and is going to be in hospital until at least Monday.
I am of course appalled by this news as I know what a nightmare it will be for him – however the self-centred side of me is shrieking ‘But what about my kitchen and garden?” However I have managed to keep my selfish side, that I don’t like to own up to, under control to the extent that I have added “Get well card “ to my ‘To Do’ list and am contemplating sending him a copy of what I regard as the Hearty Male classic, “Don’t tell Mum I work on The Rigs, She thinks I’m a Piano Player in a Whorehouse” as his recovery reading.

I am still on the hunt for a wedding dress to wear to the 90’s nuptial revival evening. True to form it’s just my luck I throw a party with a couple of friends who in terms of figure, could only be described finest quality racing snakes who can zip into their original 1991 wedding dresses with a shrug of their shoulders as opposed to industrial strength reinforcement and tugging. I have drawn the line at appearing in my original meringue outfit although my mother is sending over my veil so I can at least make a token effort to appear in the original garb. I have also made a couple of forays into Vinnies, the Australian charity shop where I did find a couple of wedding dresses in my size (2011 rather than 1991 that is) but if I say they had sparkles, twinkles and lace in places even Barbie doesn’t go, it gives you an idea of the full horror of the situation.

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