clubs and things
Fri 17th, Feb, 2017
Hello. How are you all?
I am very very very well. The best I’ve been in a very long time. It feels good to write/feel/think/type that.
Tonight I am back from my book club. It’s funny really how I have these lovely ladies in my life, I joined the book club via an online site. I had wanted to join a book club (am still hoping to get a supper club too) for a very long time, it was the New Year and I made it my mission to join one and stick to it for a year and see how it went. I had dabbled in a few clubs, one was a classic book club where certain members brought notes and formal questions. Did I say formal notes and formal questions. Notes. Lists of carefully thought out questions. I hadn’t realised that it was a Note Book Club when I’d signed up. Each to their own and their Note Book Club, but my kinda book club involves getting away from the realities of life, wine (though am allergic to it so for me it’s beer but the picture in my head involves wine), the push to read books one would not normally venture to and a casual (though often passionate and sometimes lively) discussion on the book.
I’ve always loved reading, the escape of it, the window to a new world, the opportunity to drink in information, the chance to learn. Books, literature and writing (to me) are not about a competition on who can be the most literary or indeed who can come to an informal meet-up with ‘friends’ with the most notes and try to decipher while discussing the book, who is the most learned or for that matter educated. I truly love reading and abhor anyone with their head so far up their own, you know, that they turn reading into a competition. Book competitions and their winners also make me shudder slightly. Reading (to me) should be pure pleasure, whatever the content or context – literary classic, beach fiction (whatever that is), biography, magazine, blog, newspaper, comic. Reading makes the world go round. I’m very thankful to have had the opportunity to read. The opportunity to witness women with Notes at a social book club, not so much.
So, yes, getting back to our book club tonight. Our book club is just right. We meet in either a pub or restaurant in our little town by the sea and the members are from very different walks of life. All women with busy lives, kids, new houses, husbands, businesses, old houses, big careers, little part time jobs, apartments, elderly parents, problems, renovations, teenagers, littlies, no children. You know the gig. Regular women who fit in the book club and the reading of the book into real life. Without Notes.
You will be pleased to know that one is less fat than the last time one logged in here. I would like to tell you there is a miracle here, or that I took one of those little pills you see advertised in the corner of a home website, or I drank a shake or, indeed, brewed a diet tea (the mind boggles), but, ladies, I did none of those (and never have ventured into those areas). Rather, it was all very boring. I’ve simply been moving more, specifically walking. I aim for 10K steps a day and calculate that by way of the built in Apple step app on my phone. I must say mostly I haven’t hit the goal. I’ve also tried (and failed a lot) to eat less (not including the Wispa for afternoon tea) especially at lunch.
Guess what, that old, boring, constantly re-iterated theory we’ve all been reading about mysteriously for years is right. Move more eat less. Yet still the multi billion dollar dieting industry trundles on.
Not that anyone gives a stuff about the size of my muffin top. Nor that I have the slightest interest in whether or not my muffin top is of any consequence to anyone else, or that anyone else’s muffin top is many more times or less times the size of mine or what they do with their own muffin top issues. What I know is that when I cannot pull up my jeans and the muffin thing wobbles over the top when I go about my daily business, I am not happy. One does not like that jiggling feeling. So at the moment, it’s still there but not spilling over with full jiggling.
Anyway, we are in absolute chaos here.
To say we have had a tradie let us down on the floors is a complete and utter understatement. That picture I posted in the last post was an in progress shot of the floors we had sanded – it was after the second coat of white paint. I was a very happy bunny. There was certainly dancing with the jiggly muffin.
And then the next day the top coat went on. An hour later the floor turned orange and yellow. Right before our eyes, up seeped the tannins and by the end of the day the floor looked like a Dalmatian, only the spots were yellow and more splattered.
I was not a happy person.
The tradie in question on the phone tried to, in a round about way, tell me that that’s what happens and it wasn’t that bad. Friends it was bad. One of the offspring said it looked like the wood was diseased. It did.
So I asked if he, you know, professional, who was charging us a LOT of money to perform his skill had used a primer to keep in the tannins.
Special anti stain, anti tannin paint?
Has this happened when you’ve painted a floor white before?
And then the fun really started.
To be fair he was prepared to put his hands up and say it was his fault. To not be fair to us he decided he would completely make this arrangement to suit him, while we have been stuck here all squeezed into two rooms, with a lot of dust and no living space.
Eventually his men came back to re-sand the floors, the dust again for the second time. No they did not clear up the dust, either the first time or the second time. At all. They obviously assume a dust fairy enters their workplace overnight and removes it.
The solution we had worked out was re-sand the floors and then do test patches (note to floor sander company : may have been a good idea to have done this in round one). I was prepared to work around his schedule etc.
It has taken him TWO WEEKS to do two test patches (involving tops 10 mins of his time/work).
He has let us down repeatedly, I have waited in on many occasions and he hasn’t turned up. We have had messages late in the evening saying he will arrive early in the morning, we’ve got up to let him in and he’s messaged us at the time in the morning to say he’s taken the wrong turning to the bridge (which is the only way off of the beaches, you can’t get it wrong) and hence won’t be arriving. Messages to say he will be here and then nothing. Messages ignored. No messages at all.
It’s actually become comical.
And when he finally arrived to top coat the test patches he informed us that today he can’t come back because he has to pick up his son.
And we are left for another weekend with a half sanded house, piled up furniture and no solution…
But I do have a laundry room nearly done and about to be re-tiled.
Putting that on my grateful list. Right?
p.s. if you are on the beaches, indeed in Sydney and are about to get your floors sanded, call me.