breaking the silence.
Lawdy! What happened there? A quite disgraceful lapse of time between the last post and this. Apologies to anyone still checking in. There were the usual mitigations, of course. That being health, which has been languishing at the foot of a verrrry steep hill. And brain, which has been off on a jaunt of its own. Oh, and Mr Pimp’s departure date has been creeping steadily apace. We go merrily about our way, trahlahing along, nimbly sidestepping the fact that after tomorrow he’ll be gone and whatever lies beyond that feels strangely dense, as if time has slipped over a cliff into the big blue unknown.
Things have been happening in the land of wreck. Slowlyslowly, as ever (that being axiomatic, really). Esteemed architect last week said “the trouble with you two is that you live in a world where you expect ‘tomorrow’ to mean ‘tomorrow'”. And indeed we do. In a proselytising sort of way, to boot. Somewhat to his perturbation, I might add, he being the bit in the middle between our (my) galloping impatience and beaurocracy’s shuffling slipper sense of time. Not that I’m really complaining. I know that as these things go, we’re positively roaring along. Smell that rubber!
So. We have had verbal confirmation from Heritage that most of our proposed changes have met with approval. Ole! Still in cautious mode, I’m waiting for that approval to take the written form but…listen…do you hear that? It’s the knees of my hat knocking inside the wardrobe. And on top of that, a pre-DA meeting earlier this week has also reaped positives. They (the Powers That Be) would like a little tweak here, a small nibble there. Fine detailing such as the substitution of metal for glass in one place, wood for metal in another. I don’t want to tempt fate – indeed I’m typing with crossed fingers – but it does seem to be a ‘yes’ to the upstairs bathroom (I toast all their cotton socks with a glass of bubble bath), a ‘yes’ to the openings between rooms, and a ‘yes’ to the demolition of that godawful 1900s bubonic privy in the ungarden. Even a ‘yes’ to Mr Pimp’s Juliet balconies, which were supposed to be the sacrificial items.
And we have had our fifteen minutes of fame. After an article (with dreadful photo) in the Sydney Morning Herald featuring Mr P, myself and the house, we were recognised while out today buying dog food. Modest by some standards, but a heady fifteen seconds or so. Mr P once had fifteen seconds of fame as an extra in a quite appalling Michael Winner film, but that’s another story.
Another post later in the coming week. About exterior paints, no less. I expect to be ambushed outside my front door for weeks afterwards.