Those recurring weekends

They just keep coming, the weekends, that is. Today I went off to the crochet clinic, where I sat diligently finishing the two front pieces of the jacket I have been doing for months now. It is quite a soothing way of using up a weekend. In the intervening fortnight I got no crocheting done. The sleeve seams have now been sewn, and I am contemplating carefully the joining of the fronts to the back. And hoping the result will fit me and look good. I don't know whether I could cope psychologically if they don't. The camel's back may well break. Let's hope not.

Today was General Household Cleanup Day, and so I went through the house to see what I could discard. If I get kicked out of my home, there are a number of things I would not want to take with me to whatever part of Siberia I'd have to settle for, but those items are far too big for me to move unaided, what with their considerable weight, and all the stairs and the stair lifts to contend with. Thus the items to be discarded included elderly umbrellas, waste paper bins, garden pots, some tiles and bricks, and firewood. And two old speakers. I bought the bricks thinking that somehow or other, unassisted, I could raise the level of Dr P's bed, to make it easier for him to get in and out of it. It remains unclear how it would have been possible for me to hold the base of the bed high enough to enable me, unaided, to slip bricks underneath the castors. The firewood was in the fireplace when we moved to this house, but we never lit the fire, and it seemed to me that it would be a good idea to get rid of the wood. There were a few tiles, which used to be decorative, but they have been unused for the past  eleven years, and it seemed the time had come to dispose of them. Some crafty items also joined the pile.

As the day progressed, various neighbours brought out their stuff and piled them on the footpath, or against my wall. I politely asked them to move them onto the kerb, the designated collection point, and this was done. One young female neighbour, never before spotted, brought out a dead ironing board. I expressed surprise that a young person had an ironing board to be disposed off, but she smilingly assured me that she always ironed her clothes. (Unlike my children.)

I was pretty excited that I had managed to notice the forthcoming collection day, as year after year I used to miss it. Although the Council warned that the collection might not occur on the Day Itself, in fact they arrived, hefty men and their mpressive truck, at about 7 pm and they took absolutely everything.

Late in the afternoon I looked down at the street from my balcony, and saw some neighbours combing through the discards. They took away an umbrella which used to belong to Dr P. Recycling is alive and well around here. It was pleasing to note this.

There are still a couple of dead radiators and a printer and scanner to get rid of. Computer thingies are not readily accepted, and it may require a special effort to get rid of these. You would think that with the manifold increase in computer paraphernalia, and the rapid going out of date that afflicts so many such machines, that councils would have got around to making special provision to help their loyal ratepayers dispose of them, but No.

There are some things which I can take to Vinnies. A woman's work is never done.

I suppose it made a change from the seemingly endless revision of legal documents and the countering of false statements made by the other side. All this resulted in a lengthy appointment with the lawyers earlier this week, and I await the next exciting instalment. It is evident that nothing will be settled in the near future.