Given the day started with the washing machine exploding (slight exaggeration but I did have to take my clothes to my parents to wash out the smell of burning rubber) and the Hoover breaking down (reasons enough for wanting to steer clear of both as I usually do) why I thought it would be a good idea to do a spot of overdue DIY I don't know.
The supercilious teenage twat in Homebase informed me that I could not find the “toilet flushers” as I was looking for the wrong product. I did in fact require a “cistern lever”. He was fortunate enough to escape unharmed as my brain was picturing him strangled with the chord of a power shower with a loo brush sticking out from where the sun don't shine.
Fitting the new toilet seat took far longer than anticipated due to the ridiculous length of the central metal spike, plastic wingnuts and the proximity of the bowl to the wall. I think the blue stripe is rather fetching. I'm guessing from C's face when he returned home he does not agree.
But, then, he may have been looking at the mess covering the bathroom floor. The old cistern lever may have been broken but could I remove the damn thing? No, anything that was supposed to come apart refused as it was melded together with limescale. I tried all kinds as evidenced by the array of tools, gadgets and implements littering the tiles. Helplessly, I appealed to the man for assistance. He couldn't budge it either but then he had a plan. Acrid smoke filled the flat for the second time today when he set fire to it and melted it to bits. I am still not convinced it was a good idea but as C pointed out it worked.
Three of us set off in a group from the Vicky Park hub like excited kids in our bright red bibs ('Watch out the bikes are coming') entering the traffic-free route at London Bridge. Friends, entire families, people on their own – all joined together to demonstrate London at its best. Fun, friendly and full of life.
Bikes of all descriptions were on display. Unicycles. Tandems. Children pedalling hell for leather; legs whizzing round and round. Stabilisers. Little ones (and dogs) in trailers. Recumbent bikes of all varieties – including one with an amazing Kenwood sound system attached to the rear.
We thought we'd have to give the free sarnies a miss due to the huge crowd at the festival in St. James's. But, no. The organisation was superb and the queues short. Sandwich, apple and water for nought. And a demonstration of some even more bizarre bikes.
Two thirds of the way into Joanna Blythman's Bad Food Britain I was feeling a little smug. I try to buy independently when I can – no small feat as I live in a working-class food desert – I cook from scratch almost every day and I rarely eat processed food. My body rebelled anyway. It refused to take anything on board and violently expelled any left overs from both ends. Fabulous. I'm not entirely sure what I'd planned for the first week of the holidays but five days in bed with sickness and diarrhoea hadn't been mooted as an option.
but only because I have to write the questions for book group next week; we didn't agree with one another.
From this to this...
...to this...
