9am. Get outside, breath in the fresh air.
10.30am. Getting off my laptop, well, that didn’t quite work. (Shut the computer, go outside)
Nice and sunny now. Smoking too much. Eat some vegemite toast, apparently, vitamin B helps fight depression. (Not that I suffer from depression, but it is good to know)
11am. I started on the back steps, re-motaring the pavers that came off, unstuck years a go. First thing, scrape off all the old mortar from the concrete steps underneath the paving. Actually, first thing put on a little Aerosmith. Just sitting in the sun is quite nice, tra la la. (some time later) Shake my head, day dreams are nice, pick up the scraper again.
Stopped for lunch when Sam gets home. We ate cauliflower soup, with huge door steps of toast to dunk into it. Too many carbs? Who said that?
So, back to the steps. First thing, find the cordless headphones. (The corded headphones keep catching on my knee, as I bend down, and they keep ripping out of my ears as I stand up again) Take it away Steven. (Aerosmith. Keep up) It’s a bit frustrating, as I am still missing some pieces. Nothing for it, start rummaging around in the garden in the hope to find a few more pieces. Nothing like a bit of archology to fix the garden steps. I locate that spikey garden implement, the one that comes in the set of three that I never know really know what it is for? I'm sure it is just some useless thing with which the corporate whores pad out the gardening set to screw more money out of us all. I prod around in the garden and I soon find the other small pieces.
2pm. Still missing on piece, arguably the most important piece. Centre piece, second step. Grrrr.
Sit and have yet another cigarette. So, to recap.
Apparently, one can’t spent one's whole life watching YouTube? So they say. So, the next best thing is a bit of home maintenance. And that brings me to the back steps. They have irritated me for quite sometime, the four, or so, missing pieces, and all the small facia on the third step. It was last Saturday, when I thought to myself, all the pieces were just here, looking at the garden beside the steps. That was when the, er, let’s just say it, the junkie I lived with at the time, in a fit of uncharacteristic energy cleaned up the back yard.
“See what I’ve done?” Eyes pointing in different directions, like a good dog that wanted a pat on the head for his efforts.
“Oh… um… well. You didn’t throw out the stone paving for the steps, did you?”
Apparently, it all went to the tip.
Close the eyes, one big breath. What can you say?
Shamefully, fast forward 15 years. (“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he mutters nervously.) Last Saturday, in an act of desperation, I shoved my hands down into the soil of the garden next to the steps to see if any pieces had survived, had been missed in the fit of speed-induced action, to find a small piece of paving. Well, I thought to myself, if there is one piece, there may well be two. In the next few hours, on two days, I found all of the pieces except for one, arguably, the most important piece, the centre piece second step. So, I just have to find that last piece.
Funny, in such a relatively short period of time, all the pieces became quite buried. The 2 larger pieces were still vertically in the gardens next to the steps, but they had worked their way down to 5 centimetres below the surface. The smaller pieces were scattered through the garden, now under the existing plants.
What do I take from this? Never listen to junkies.
Nah, that’s far too easy. What I take from this, is that I am just a lazy arse. Still, never too late to change that, hey?
Steven starts singing the theme from Superman and I feel energised.
I was still struggling to get the stones worked out on the facia of the steps, tra la la, what is the hurry. Then Sam got home, and, of course, he took over and placed the stones, declaring it done and telling me to get on with it.
What he had done didn't look too bad, I have to admit to myself.
It had been nice sitting out in the sun in the fresh air moving pieces of paving around. Now, I have to mix concrete and, actually, do the job. Do I know what I am doing? No, but, apparently, I shouldn't let that stop me.
10.30am. Getting off my laptop, well, that didn’t quite work. (Shut the computer, go outside)
Nice and sunny now. Smoking too much. Eat some vegemite toast, apparently, vitamin B helps fight depression. (Not that I suffer from depression, but it is good to know)
11am. I started on the back steps, re-motaring the pavers that came off, unstuck years a go. First thing, scrape off all the old mortar from the concrete steps underneath the paving. Actually, first thing put on a little Aerosmith. Just sitting in the sun is quite nice, tra la la. (some time later) Shake my head, day dreams are nice, pick up the scraper again.
Stopped for lunch when Sam gets home. We ate cauliflower soup, with huge door steps of toast to dunk into it. Too many carbs? Who said that?
So, back to the steps. First thing, find the cordless headphones. (The corded headphones keep catching on my knee, as I bend down, and they keep ripping out of my ears as I stand up again) Take it away Steven. (Aerosmith. Keep up) It’s a bit frustrating, as I am still missing some pieces. Nothing for it, start rummaging around in the garden in the hope to find a few more pieces. Nothing like a bit of archology to fix the garden steps. I locate that spikey garden implement, the one that comes in the set of three that I never know really know what it is for? I'm sure it is just some useless thing with which the corporate whores pad out the gardening set to screw more money out of us all. I prod around in the garden and I soon find the other small pieces.
2pm. Still missing on piece, arguably the most important piece. Centre piece, second step. Grrrr.
Sit and have yet another cigarette. So, to recap.
Apparently, one can’t spent one's whole life watching YouTube? So they say. So, the next best thing is a bit of home maintenance. And that brings me to the back steps. They have irritated me for quite sometime, the four, or so, missing pieces, and all the small facia on the third step. It was last Saturday, when I thought to myself, all the pieces were just here, looking at the garden beside the steps. That was when the, er, let’s just say it, the junkie I lived with at the time, in a fit of uncharacteristic energy cleaned up the back yard.
“See what I’ve done?” Eyes pointing in different directions, like a good dog that wanted a pat on the head for his efforts.
“Oh… um… well. You didn’t throw out the stone paving for the steps, did you?”
Apparently, it all went to the tip.
Close the eyes, one big breath. What can you say?
Shamefully, fast forward 15 years. (“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he mutters nervously.) Last Saturday, in an act of desperation, I shoved my hands down into the soil of the garden next to the steps to see if any pieces had survived, had been missed in the fit of speed-induced action, to find a small piece of paving. Well, I thought to myself, if there is one piece, there may well be two. In the next few hours, on two days, I found all of the pieces except for one, arguably, the most important piece, the centre piece second step. So, I just have to find that last piece.
Funny, in such a relatively short period of time, all the pieces became quite buried. The 2 larger pieces were still vertically in the gardens next to the steps, but they had worked their way down to 5 centimetres below the surface. The smaller pieces were scattered through the garden, now under the existing plants.
What do I take from this? Never listen to junkies.
Nah, that’s far too easy. What I take from this, is that I am just a lazy arse. Still, never too late to change that, hey?
Steven starts singing the theme from Superman and I feel energised.
I was still struggling to get the stones worked out on the facia of the steps, tra la la, what is the hurry. Then Sam got home, and, of course, he took over and placed the stones, declaring it done and telling me to get on with it.
What he had done didn't look too bad, I have to admit to myself.
It had been nice sitting out in the sun in the fresh air moving pieces of paving around. Now, I have to mix concrete and, actually, do the job. Do I know what I am doing? No, but, apparently, I shouldn't let that stop me.
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