That Bolshie little git from the skylight fixers was here again today and he was positively obsequious. I wonder what it was that cooled his ardour. Dare I venture to suggest that he was quelled by my air of fearsome authority? Well, whatever it was, this sudden obsequiousness is creepy. Shame, he can’t win. Perhaps he just wanted, in his way, to apologise for having behaved like a bolshie twerpy little oik on the first day. Maybe he’d been having a moment.
I forgot that the car was stuck. It does this sometimes. Sometimes it has no life, at all. That’s why when we were in the desert Thomo refused to turn off the engine. She was scared it wouldn’t start, and we’d be stuck in the desert and run out of food and water and die there. My friend is not without a flair for the dramatic. Anyway, today was fine. A plan was made.
Manicure date cannot come soon enough. Friday, I think it is. My hands are looking desperate. It is so refreshing to look upon one’s freshly manicured hand. It clears the mind and causes the side of the lips to curl toward the ears in satisfaction. I don’t care if people say that it’s frivolous. It’s not frivolous. Actually it probably is frivolous, but what’s wrong with that? What is life without a little frivolity? Frivolity is essential, and going to have a manicure is a lovely, lovely indulgence, which results in pretty hands. You wouldn’t know this, but I have exactly the same hands as my Mum. She liked me to give her manicures – and I did. She liked neutral pink polish. Elitist? What the hell is elitist? I shun that word. I am glad the world isn’t ordered by Charlie Mingas and his band of Bolsheviks.
I slept last night, so I’m not optimistic about tonight. But, we shall see!