Up and not particularly at it at 08.20. There is no rush although I do need to repair the clothes airer before Anne gets back from Liverpeul so the clock is ticking somewhat. She has supplied a new cord for the purpose and it will be done. It is not particularly convenient banging into it every time anyone goes into the utility room, hanging, forlorn, as it does.
I sense I might also mow the lawn this morning. It is once more covered in leaves and mowing is an easy way to remove them to the compost heap, shredding the little blighters in the process. It ‘s not really fair to call them blighters as they have, in their short season on the planet, done the job asked of them.
My other job is to properly fix the handle on John’s bedroom door. The spindle keeps slipping out of the housing on the inside door handle rendering it inoperable from inside the room, if you get my drift. Why it just started to do that after only being installed in 1939 I will never know. The application of a bit of gorilla glue should sort it.
Rand Armitage was on Classic FM as I was preparing breakfast. What sort of name is that I said to Hannah. Actually it was Alan Titchmarch. I was only half listening. No name should come as a surprise nowadays. I then envisaged the young Alan in school whilst his teacher read out the register. Titchmarsh, Alan, “here”. Or even Titchmarsh, Al! I can call you Eddie and Eddie when you call me you can call me Titchmarsh, Al. Works for me.