Like a Chippendale

I think it was during the glorious summer of 1976 that Marianna and I began stripping the woodchip wall paper from the walls of our home. It’s what we did last weekend and what we’ve done for all of this weekend. And several dozen weekends before too. It’s been a bit of a slow news week, possibly because we aren’t living there to see everything that happens. Marianna visits regulalrly. She knows everyone by name. A few more weeks and their menstrual cycles will be synchronised. Max seems to have replaced Matthew this week. Marianna was missing him. Max called her on Tuesday afternoon to say that the makers of the windows couldn’t make them as we wanted them on the second floor and then he called her on Wednesday to ask why we hadn’t made a decision on the new design because it was slowing the project down. He was coming across as pretty pushy and impatient. Marianna thought he had stepped in because Matthew wasn’t progressing things quickly enough. Marianna almost definitely has AD/HD and declared herself bored by about midday yesterday but we carried on and returned to Vikki’s at 7.

Yesterday, from the top floor I was able to (casually) observe Martin cut his back lawn, lower the blades and cut it again and then go over it again with a strimmer. When he'd done all this he had a well deserved nap in the garden. Today he spent five hours cleaning his car. When we were in the garden this afternoon their daughter got our attention and handed over a building supplies delivery sheet that was in their garden. I thought she might have written “Help, rescue me from my OCD parents” on it. Marianna arrived at the house one day this week and caught him loitering, clearly waiting for the brickies to arrive. She ushered him away.

We sat on our deck chairs amongst the wreckage in the back garden for ten minutes this afternoon for a little lunch break. We looked at the rear of the house and noticed that it didn’t look as symmetrical as the plans intimated that it might and there seemed to be a lot more wall than we thought there would be and a lot less door. We measured and sure enough the holes for only two of the three doors are the right size but aren’t where they should be. Words fail me at the moment. We’ll have to call Matt or Max tomorrow.


Yesterday Marianna said that I have been rather cruel to Martin in these notes, that I’d held him up to ridicule and that I’ve violated his privacy. I don’t think that’s fair. I’ve portrayed him very positively and always respectfully. His privacy has never been violated. She thought that there is a risk that one of the three people that read them will declare themselves to be his cousin, sister, best friend or masseuse. What do you think?