03 April 2006

The War of the Hoses

I am quite alone. Mother has gone to the opera, frittering away my inheritance on wobbling warblers and smoked salmom sarnies, leaving me free to indulge in whatever it is I wish to indulge in - within Burghfield's limits. The cage door is open, and if I had a mind to, I could escape and be miles away before the sirens sounded. Unfortunately, my conditioning has proved so successful, that I stare at the outside world, yet am terrified of venturing into it. Outside world = work, responsibility, doing my own laundry, and cooking. I am now completely house trained/broken, and harmless.
The white suit has proved a massive disappointment so far. It's my own stupid fault for being stingy. What can one really expect for £99? I'm afraid that the linen gets too creased - in a bad way, everytime I sit down - which is often. When I do manage to stand up, the material sticks out at ridiculous angles. I think I've actually brought a cardboard suit. Anyway, it will have to go. Perhaps I'll auction it for the Burghfield Boy Scouts Hut Appeal. Offers here please.
A hosepipe ban has begun today, which I am intending to break. There is a man across the road who appears to be running a car valeting service in his drive. He is allowed to squirt forty gallons of water a second to get bird shit of a BMW, while I am breaking the law if I sprinkle the begonias to keep them alive. We don't need the hosepipe of course, having installed a water butt, which after the weekend, now contains thirty six Billion gallons, but it's the principle innit?
I am looking forward to a summer of drought, standpipes, scorched earth and malaria. This is when white suits come into their own.
Anyway, as you can tell - I have nothing of interest to impart. Book Limbo, life limbo, a diary as clear as my conscience...just some tailoring to sort out.
Time for tea I think.

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