It is Saturday evening and in spite of my dire forbodings, Gordon, the garden wrecker has finished the roof, removed the scaffolding, steam cleaned the paving and flower pots, (also inadvertently the kitchen walls and surfaces with a leaky attachment) and gone home clutching his cash in hand. Alas he has taken it into his head to paint the back door and windows, so he cheerily said `see you Monday Vick` as he left. I have no memory of agreeing to this. Still he does now bring his own milk and make his own tea, and also he had a frail youth with him today who is also coming next week. I asked the lad what he usually does on a Monday morning and he said he stayed up in his bedroom with his playstation, so perhaps I am doing my bit to help the young unemployed I cheered myself up writing a poem about builders as a therapy.
I spent a few hours yesterday at the Quaker Meeting House in Brighton which is simply buzzing with life. I hope to be a voluntary helper there on a regular basis, but I felt I have so much to learn. I know now how hepless the volunteers felt when they came to stand in for me at Winchester. Brighton MH is a much more efficiently run outfit than mine was, and there is so much going on. I did enjoy it all.
I have been writing all day and at the same time, watching Gordon`s progress anxiously outside. I am trying to write about all the houses i have lived in, but there have not been many. I have led a very unexciting life. Nice though.