What's Under the Rug?

📮 Overheard Conversations.

Hello Powells,

How was your weekend? I finished last week feeling downcast and not my usual chipper self. Selling my flat has turned into A TOTAL FARSE; I’ll be lucky if it sells before the turn of the century. I’m now paying rent and council tax on two properties and money is disappearing from my bank account in such large sums and at such an alarming rate I am tempted to call the Police. I’ve given up sending angry emails – because everyone involved in selling my flat has chosen this year to take extended annual Christmas leave and their Out of Office is somehow STILL ON despite it being January 8th – and I’m just bashing my head against the wall every hour instead. I consoled myself with 3 episodes of Downton Abbey on Friday night and my mood was momentarily lifted when I found a forgotten HobNob at the bottom of the biscuit tin. Even better, Stefan didn’t want any so I had the whole thing to myself. On Saturday the weather was fine and dry for once so we took a walk to my favourite bookshop café (Scarthin Books) where I overheard a very strange conversation: Two friends were sat at the table next to ours swapping Christmas day stories and, as I tucked into a chocolate brownie, I heard one friend tell the other that she spent Christmas day at her mother-in-laws with a dead dog under a rug. That perked me up, I can tell you! It took my mind off the wretched flat for the rest of the weekend! Alas, it is Monday again and I must face reality. I do hope that the Conveyancing Gods look down on me favourably this week; I’m juggling several jobs in the studio and I’d prefer to keep the bashing of my head against a wall to a minimum, if possible.

I’ll write again soon, hopefully with more cheerful tidings.  

Powell x