My last day at school came quite quickly and it was a sad affair indeed. I had prepared myself for the goodbyes but looking back I should have taken the afternoon off. Some children kept on asking, through the day, why I was leaving while a little girl in my class kept on coming to me and hugging me. I looked at their little faces, trying to take it all in as if storing memories for future use, not being really useful, feeling in the way and already somewhere else. I wish I could have taken one or two, the ones I know haven't got a good deal at home.
When it was time to leave I could feel my throat tighten and a huge wave of sadness washed over me. I ran away more than walked out, with for last memory little E. calling me, standing at the door in his suit smiling, his bag in one hand and waving with the other.
Wednesday 29 April 2009
Sunday 19 April 2009
16. of wrecks, bombs and the Borg
So we're back in England again after a week staying with Cathy, Dave and the kids and visiting the house.
When we visited the house we could see that our friends had done a brilliant job on it. The whole ceiling was down on one side, the false ceiling on the other was down and half the floor was up making it look more like the wreck of the Mary Rose than anything, but that's the point. Before the work starts we have to go through this horrible period of making it look like a haunted house and then bring it back to life.
We made a trip to Weldom and picked up some bombs. Not real ones of course, but fumigation bombs. The place has been like the House of Flies, on the upper floors of the house there are squillions of them, either dead, dying or will be. Lord knows where they come from, after seeing the mummified cats we kinda don't want to know, just as long as they are all killed. I'm sure the house may have some other gruesome find along the way, as long as it's not human I don't really mind. So these 'bombs' are more like fizzy powder candles. I was rather hoping for a more dramatic scenario where you light the touch paper, run and close the door and 'bouf' the whole thing goes off and all you can see from the outside is evidence of a white cloud. It was more of a 'fizz fizz hiss' that just carried on until it was all finished in the can. But when we went back to check the next day it certainly did seem to have done the trick.
Apparently we are the talk of the village. We had a drink in a our local, there is only one. We were introduced to a couple at the bar who heard us speaking english and also the owners of the bar. It transpires that some people in the village thinks the school shouldn't have been sold by the commune and others happy that is now being rejuvenated. You can't please them all, hopefully we will live up to expectations.
The Japanese Knotweed was raising it's persistent head again after we attacked it last time. It was even pushing up the carpet we put over it to try and deprive it of sunshine. We spoke with our neighbour about it and he told us of a weedkiller that was MUCH stronger than the one we had used. Off we eagerly trot (well, we virtually ran) to the garden centre to buy some. It looked evil. More like Agent Orange, well it WAS orange, but when you added water it went milky, and I have always had a primal distrust of any liquid that changes quality in this way, even seeing that crystal clear topaz colour of pastis change to alcoholic milk. When we purchased the killer the lady in the shop was very insistent that it could kill trees and shouldn't be used near a well, river or other water and expect nothing to grow afterwards. Little did she realise that we were envisaging a horticultural Hiroshima if we got our way. We have to be gardening Borg, resistance is futile!
When we visited the house we could see that our friends had done a brilliant job on it. The whole ceiling was down on one side, the false ceiling on the other was down and half the floor was up making it look more like the wreck of the Mary Rose than anything, but that's the point. Before the work starts we have to go through this horrible period of making it look like a haunted house and then bring it back to life.
We made a trip to Weldom and picked up some bombs. Not real ones of course, but fumigation bombs. The place has been like the House of Flies, on the upper floors of the house there are squillions of them, either dead, dying or will be. Lord knows where they come from, after seeing the mummified cats we kinda don't want to know, just as long as they are all killed. I'm sure the house may have some other gruesome find along the way, as long as it's not human I don't really mind. So these 'bombs' are more like fizzy powder candles. I was rather hoping for a more dramatic scenario where you light the touch paper, run and close the door and 'bouf' the whole thing goes off and all you can see from the outside is evidence of a white cloud. It was more of a 'fizz fizz hiss' that just carried on until it was all finished in the can. But when we went back to check the next day it certainly did seem to have done the trick.
Apparently we are the talk of the village. We had a drink in a our local, there is only one. We were introduced to a couple at the bar who heard us speaking english and also the owners of the bar. It transpires that some people in the village thinks the school shouldn't have been sold by the commune and others happy that is now being rejuvenated. You can't please them all, hopefully we will live up to expectations.
The Japanese Knotweed was raising it's persistent head again after we attacked it last time. It was even pushing up the carpet we put over it to try and deprive it of sunshine. We spoke with our neighbour about it and he told us of a weedkiller that was MUCH stronger than the one we had used. Off we eagerly trot (well, we virtually ran) to the garden centre to buy some. It looked evil. More like Agent Orange, well it WAS orange, but when you added water it went milky, and I have always had a primal distrust of any liquid that changes quality in this way, even seeing that crystal clear topaz colour of pastis change to alcoholic milk. When we purchased the killer the lady in the shop was very insistent that it could kill trees and shouldn't be used near a well, river or other water and expect nothing to grow afterwards. Little did she realise that we were envisaging a horticultural Hiroshima if we got our way. We have to be gardening Borg, resistance is futile!
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