Someone was keen to see the pile of clothes on the mantelpiece. I do have other plans for today, but in the meantime, here it is. City Road! I wish I could do that inept annotating you are so fond of, but I don't know how on a Mac - if you show me how, more fugly annotated photo posts will follow.
If it were annotated I could point out:
1. An apparently seminal 3 volume set of Colloquies on the Enlightenment next to the large black photo album. Never read, from dark, history past that must be buried. A present from my mother's gay first husband.
2. The mattress that is taking up most of the room, but that is too heavy for me to even begin to think about moving it up to the spare room, and that I was too pathetic to ask the delivery guys to move for me. Planning on coming to visit? Hope you have your Health & Safety Lifting Certificate (bend those knees).
3. The woodcut print of London, and the one of Paris hiding behind it that are entirely India's fault. India is ruining women everywhere with her blog of outrageously desirable trifles. They are joining the already extensive collection of unframed stuff placed on high shelves to avoid dog damage. Other hard to spot items up there:
- several kilometres of Shinzi Katoh ribbon;
- an ineffectual anti-moth ball made from, I think, coffee beans;
- a photo of 'crazy era' me playing 'aeroplane' with Fingers, not having learned my lesson when the CFO dislocated Lashes's elbow doing the same;
- a lovely green clutch bag from Mimi in Cheshire Street that has lain untouched since it was used to stash/transport petits fours home from MF's beautiful Claridges wedding (2005? BMF?).
4. The top box is labelled, optimistically, 'useful clothes' (the bottom one, more idiosyncratically, says 'dad's keys are in here'). However useful they may be, they have not merited unpacking yet. Ha! Not so fucking useful now, are you?
5. Staining around the base of the mantlepiece where the stupid bastard dog decided to pee on my brand new fucking carpet. And still he lives!
Wow, this is boring. Sorry. Back later with thoughts around the theme 'what the fuck goes on in my children's heads'.
PS: M would like you also to note that my removal company was called "Coquibus". Thank you.