Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Fights of imagination
Bit of this
I wear a shocking pink scarf, turban style, that little sis gave me. I glimpse my reflection, but I only see the startling swirl of color, not the lined haggard face it frames. I feel exotic. Corse what the world and it's wife sees does not bear thinking about. So I don't.
My windows are sparkly clean, courtesy of ever cheery window cleaner. He promises to clean my lean to, on a day when he cleans the chicken factory, he tells me. I am surprised, thinking he only trawled the suburbs for trade, and am dying to know what other clients he cleans!
A toss up between being a domestic goddess or trip out. Me and the scarf go out. What we find is a spectacular, although when looked at closely some bits are disturbing, I find.
Bit of that
This is what I found only in Woodstock not Croydon