Oh der. Oh really der.
In all the panic one tries, one so very tries to do all the normal stuff. You know, laundry vacuuming, getting washed, sleeping. A bit. Anyway, up early this AM to get on with some porcelain pouring, I watched the bin men emptying the bins and congratulated myself on having remembered to go all round the house clearing all the rubbish so we don’t drown in a sea of junk. The room of the S&H is particularly prone to this ailment. It was the room he chose when we arrived and he was five and, at five, it fitted him. Now, running the remnants of a business from it, he regularly files correspondence on the floor with his socks and has room to breathe, just.
Of late he has had some success with Kickstart, the inventions website. I was always surprised he did not turn into an inventor of some sort to do with computers. He wrote his first game when he was eleven and it was good. After years trying to be a tycoon, for which he has little aptitude, he has reverted in his spare time to the thing he was meant to do. The first invention to do with encryption software, reached the target way ahead of time and exceeded it. He enjoyed it so much he has the next three inventions lined up, done in his mind and just needing the practical stuff to get them going.
So I was standing pouring porcelain from moulds of my own invention this morning, thinking how it might come out right after all and watching the bin men tip the bins into the giant metal mashing teeth in the back of the bin lorry, when the S&H strolled downstairs.
‘Have you,’ he enquired, ‘seen a silver computer packet full of stuff balanced on top of my waste paper basket? I know it was there last night.’
We both watched as the bin lorry ate the bin contents, including his sliver packet.
‘It was my latest invention,’ he said sadly.
I have given up wondering what will go wrong next, or, even, waiting for it to do so. I have this sort of resignation all over me that I’m wearing as a cloak of invisibility in the hope that the happenstance which seems to be streaming through the universe at present, will swerve and avoid me. Or the poor hapless groom whose penniless mother has just thrown away his last hope of making money.
Oh der. Oh really der.
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JaneLaverick.com – knuckles scraping the ground dear.