Every Mug has its Uses

This is a notion that his Lordship holds dear to his heart and is happy to quote in somewhat politer tones if I've nagged asked him to do something which doesn't readily engage his interest.

This tin mug comes all the way from Alcatraz, the prison just a short swim away from Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco, but a prison from which it is almost impossible to escape, given the currents between it and freedom.
The mug has never been used to drink from, but holds a goodly selection of pens, pencils and scissors and sits on a shelf above my computer.

With a return to winter chill today, I was happy after another early morning flabbusting visit to the gym, to hibernate in the castle and give it a wash behind its ears in readiness for the surveyors 3rd visit. I know they're not looking at how many cobwebs are attached to the cornicing or whether it's possible to see through the windows, but there is a degree of pride attached to having strangers examine your home.

Anyway the surveyors (two of them, just in case one of them missed the chip in the paintwork or the kink in the wiring) have now come and gone. They left with smiles on their faces which I hope weren't smiles of glee at having picked up some awful problem which we didn't know anything about. We'll have to wait and see.

During the wait for them and their visit, I've made yet another stress relieving banana loaf and taken up a pair of trousers, the latter being a job I absolutely hate, but which I have to do on a regular basis. Oh to have longer legs!

Lets hope life can now recover its more tranquil style for a bit, with just the odd sortie to the charity shop and the *cowp.


* a Scottish term for the municipal rubbish collection point