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Weekend / Weakened
My weekend in brief:
Sister, in a rare sign that we might actually be related to one another, took me to Wembury Beach this morning. She's broken her toe in a freak hoovering accident (no, really, it's not funny, honest ... have always said housework is nasty dangerous thing, vindication! Hah!) but was happy to sit in the warm, bright sun and watch me paddling in the surf (not that cold, really). The beach was full of kelp, and locals walking their dogs -- one girl had a cute, furry, slinky ferret, which looked as though it fancied a swim too. The waves were long and gentle and dead straight, and looked as though they were made of green glass.
Father was no better, no worse, no change. Yesterday I had some difficulty understanding him, as they hadn't put in his dentures, and he was a little distracted as apparently he was due to meet my mother (died 1986). Today I took in some film magazines and we had a chat about Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.
I had a couple of hours to kill yesterday lunchtime, and it was a glorious warm day, so I paid my £2 and went up Smeaton's Tower – recently restored -- on Plymouth Hoe. The original Eddystone Light, it was completed in1759 and stood on the Eddystone Rock, 14 miles south of Plymouth, for 123 years. There are deep grooves in the stone at the top of each ladder, where generations of lighthouse-keepers trod. In the bright, hothouse-warm light-chamber at the top of the red-and-white striped tower hangs the original candelabra (I forget how many candles: a lot). I walked around the balcony outside (not for vertigo-sufferers) and looked out over the Sound towards the Breakwater, last seen from 30,000 feet en route to Florida, and had thoughts about things that took years to build but have lasted for centuries. Perspective, again.
I'm still holding the light, the cool air, the distances -- over towards the transmission masts on Bodmin, out over Dartmoor, out to sea -- as talismans against the gloom and grime that bring me down too easily at this time of year.
One of my fish, Sushi (so called because it didn't cook its friends before snacking on them) died while I was away. (No, I did not eat it. Not even a little bit). This neatly halves the number of live fish in my flat, although I believe there are some in tins in the cupboard. Sushi had a good life, having been gifted to me in a recycled Nescafe jar by Rose, the weekend I moved here, after it'd killed everything else in the tank. Once I weakened and bought some more fish exactly like Sushi. Very tasty, apparently. Current nameless fish is sole survivor of that batch.
Would like a pet with a little more personality next time.
Bed. Sleep. (Or possibly in opposite order if I don't drag myself away from LJ!)
Sister, in a rare sign that we might actually be related to one another, took me to Wembury Beach this morning. She's broken her toe in a freak hoovering accident (no, really, it's not funny, honest ... have always said housework is nasty dangerous thing, vindication! Hah!) but was happy to sit in the warm, bright sun and watch me paddling in the surf (not that cold, really). The beach was full of kelp, and locals walking their dogs -- one girl had a cute, furry, slinky ferret, which looked as though it fancied a swim too. The waves were long and gentle and dead straight, and looked as though they were made of green glass.
Father was no better, no worse, no change. Yesterday I had some difficulty understanding him, as they hadn't put in his dentures, and he was a little distracted as apparently he was due to meet my mother (died 1986). Today I took in some film magazines and we had a chat about Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.
I had a couple of hours to kill yesterday lunchtime, and it was a glorious warm day, so I paid my £2 and went up Smeaton's Tower – recently restored -- on Plymouth Hoe. The original Eddystone Light, it was completed in1759 and stood on the Eddystone Rock, 14 miles south of Plymouth, for 123 years. There are deep grooves in the stone at the top of each ladder, where generations of lighthouse-keepers trod. In the bright, hothouse-warm light-chamber at the top of the red-and-white striped tower hangs the original candelabra (I forget how many candles: a lot). I walked around the balcony outside (not for vertigo-sufferers) and looked out over the Sound towards the Breakwater, last seen from 30,000 feet en route to Florida, and had thoughts about things that took years to build but have lasted for centuries. Perspective, again.
I'm still holding the light, the cool air, the distances -- over towards the transmission masts on Bodmin, out over Dartmoor, out to sea -- as talismans against the gloom and grime that bring me down too easily at this time of year.
One of my fish, Sushi (so called because it didn't cook its friends before snacking on them) died while I was away. (No, I did not eat it. Not even a little bit). This neatly halves the number of live fish in my flat, although I believe there are some in tins in the cupboard. Sushi had a good life, having been gifted to me in a recycled Nescafe jar by Rose, the weekend I moved here, after it'd killed everything else in the tank. Once I weakened and bought some more fish exactly like Sushi. Very tasty, apparently. Current nameless fish is sole survivor of that batch.
Would like a pet with a little more personality next time.
Bed. Sleep. (Or possibly in opposite order if I don't drag myself away from LJ!)
no subject
SmeagolSmeaton's tower fromAnd I am somewhat dismayed by the news of Sushi. Poor little evil cannibalistic bastard. :¬(
no subject
Fine bit of engineering, though.
Sushi did very well for a small, evil bastard. Tell me why ferrets make bad pets ...
no subject
Ferrets: well, they're kinda fun, but they do smell rather, and need a lot of looking after. You want a cat, you do. Some rescue beast that's been kept indoors all its life; Neffie used to seem perfectly happy with this lifestyle, and though she now goes outside a bit, she never strays far...
no subject
As to pets; it is a shame about Sushi. He was by far the more interesting of the two (by virtue of having done stuff, even if said stuff was eating his friends). However, if you insist on having a ferret I'm afraid I won't be looking after it when you go away. Horrid things. What about an indoor rabbit (allegedly they do very well and can easily be housetrained)? Or a hamster?