Friday, 19 June 2015

A Man's Gotta Do What A Man's Gotta Do!

Yesterday, naturally, the portaloo was in the wrong place. Not Sally's fault, of course. No, the delivery men couldn't follow a simple direction. They placed it to the left of the house, and it should have been to the right of the house. Actually, its not that heavy, so Sally shoved it all the way around the back, discovering that her ornamental archway was significantly lower than the portaloo. She then started shoving it back the other way. Detecting stress levels of a nun in a knocking shop, I assisted, and we maneuvered it into position. Prom day is imminent, the Clio is still on the drive despite promises from Renault Manchester that it would be collected, and my cycling odyssey to Marple once again fell short of Bridge 24 as the repairs are still not complete. Yesterday was a FFS kind of a day.

There were some bright spots. Those that deliver cricket kit (both of them) delivered, and my hog casings arrived. No, I'm not making sausages, they are for intestines. Speaking of which, we did another run through of The Raven yesterday. It went better than previously, but there is still a lot to do. A few script revisions were made, but the movement around the stage looks good. We also went to the Taxal School duck race. This was nothing to do with Whaley Bridge CC first XI. It was, however, somewhat chaotic, as first the children's rafts were released, and then the ducks. Now far be it from me to cast aspersions on to the veracity of the result, but the ducks were fished out of the water en masse, and any one of the little yellow creatures that was caught in the first net could have been designated the winner! The teachers missed a major opportunity by failing to fall in the swollen river, but the children cheered wildly anyway, and Sally procured a substantial amount of striped tape that can be use to section off areas of the garden for the prom.

Today is prom day. Stress levels are very likely to eclipse those of the aforementioned nun. A reveler arrived at 8am to drop off his stuff for later. Thats an awfully long time for a young man to stay awake, bearing in mind that Ole has adopted the sleeping habits of a dormouse since his exams finished. Sally disappeared for her Friday horse ride, as Ole leapt out of bed to arrange all sorts of things such as the pool room, and, err, well, just the pool room. Will you help me move this table out of the garage? he asked. Me and Fid did it, with Ole conveniently wearing headphones so that he could not hear us. Then the ladies arrived. Sally decide to make herself scarce once again, this time managing to turn a 5 minute trip to the chippy into an hour disappearance. The Candy Cart and disco dome arrived. The women asked questions. Have you got a staple gun? Hammer and nails? With my background in DIY this is like asking Darren Crompton for a tasteful jacket, or Andrew Gibson for a copy of his dietary plan. Whilst the women struggled with a tarpaulin, making it look like they were trying to nail jelly to a ceiling, I decided that a man's got to do what a man's got to do. So I made flapjacks. Rather nice flapjacks too, even if I do say so myself. Helen Smith will be round later - she will appreciate them.

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