A Pressing Affair

With yet another load of curtains in the washing machine and yesterday's all finally ironed and gracing the charity shop, I am skulking in the garden out of the way of His Lordship who is assembling 4 plastic boxes from the flat pack emporium.

It looked easy enough - 4 sides and a foot to each box- and the instructions were of the graphic variety, designed for the hard of intellect, and so it came as a shock to find that it wasn't so easy after all. The outcome was much bad language and bad temper and I kept my distance.
In the event, the boxes were assembled, but now he says that he doesn't like them.
Oh dear!

Any more flat pack assembly jobs will be let out to tender. The experts do it in a fraction of the time and it might save a marriage.

We had a short expedition to the city centre earlier to hand in some surplus to requirement belongings to a well known auction room. My, but what a dog's breakfast the powers that be have made of the centre.
It seems that there is not one street that has escaped the diggers, pipes, holes, trenches and assorted barriers leading to a maze of diversions. It would appear that all the labour force hired for the tram line laying, has been re-allocated to digging up surrounding roads while the line laying has been abandonned.
The festival visitors need only sit on a public bench to see street theatre free, gratis and for nothing.