Wet and cold in Sydney, and the back garden in its mid construction stage is looking particularly unattractive. The general charm of the scene is enhanced enormously by the washing on the line drifting sadly round on the Hills Hoist. The clothes are now wetter than they were emerging from the machine and are destined to hang like sad ghosts until we get a bit of sunshine. The builder is very disapproving of my habit of leaving things on the line through rain and shine until they eventually dry, even if it takes days. He was actually being quite charitable in his criticism of my approach to housekeeping as I am sure if he really wanted to let rip he must have gathered quite an accurate idea of my normal domestic standards, however I did feel somewhat annoyed as he is the man who has reduced the back garden to a pile of rubble and then in a move I should have anticipated, has disappeared to finish another job elsewhere, presumably for someone with higher standards on the wet washing front.
Excitements this week have included filling in the Australian Census. I took the executive decision that I should fill it in for everyone in the household, as I felt the question of how much childcare and housework each adult did might lead to heated argument if I invited other parties to join me in the form filling process. I was very tempted to tick yes for the question ‘Does the person ever need someone to help with or be with them for, communication activities? For example: understanding or being understood by, others.’ There seems to be a strong case for ticking this box for each of the Drama Queens as we often get to the point where I feel I need a full time translator of speech and mood.
Non-novel production time wasting activities this week include the stress of trying to decide what to wear to drinks that call for 90’s wedding garb. I have been gazing sadly at my 90’s ball dress and wondering a) did I ever look attractive in it b) is there any way short of radical options like liposuction – or perhaps this should be accurately named Hippo-suction, of my actually getting back into it for night of 90’s reverie, and c) what are the chances of my being able to remove the interesting stains it has gathered over the intervening 20 years of intensive partying and many an outing from the dressing up box – it last starred as a Japanese Wedding Dress in a year 6 project.
In a vain attempt to deal with point c) it is currently soaking in the laundry but that of course still leaves points a) and b) unresolved. The sole point in my favour is that it was a lace up dress so at least there is some give as it were – though I am not sure laces stretched horizontally with the strain across my back is going to be a good look – however given the whole thing is made out of a beautiful chintz fabric, good on sofas and curtains but less flattering for those cruising through 45 perhaps the lacing is the least of my worries and perhaps the answer to the whole dilemma is an exuberant hat – I can at least be pretty certain my head is roughly the same circumference it was in 1991.