Well, I’m back…
…In Newport, that is; not in Aber, or anywhere else especially interesting. Although, that said, Newport is a phenomenal step up in its offers of interest when compared to Colburn, N. Yorks, a place that’s actually more boring than Borth. (At least in Borth there’s the Victoria, and you can look at the sea…)
But, yeah. Big ol’ Round Britain tour now over, and I’m really, really tired. For this I can mostly blame the weekend which, like Ruth, I spent rigging lights. Or, rather, Ruth, who has lots more experience of lighting, spent rigging lights, and which I spent cutting gels. No. 54s? Don’t talk to me about No. 54s… I’m also sick to the back teeth of 124s, and the sooner they get shut of the rainforests that require so many green par cans to emulate, the bleedin’ better…
…Nah. Actually it was much fun, although very hard work, and although it was blisteringly hot it’s the first day in quite a long while that I’ve done that work-really-hard-and-enjoy-it type of work that leaves you feeling strangely good about the world.
And at any rate, it’s better than mowing the lawns.
I am, however, faintly cheesed off to have walked past the place where I had a job interview, only to find a hastily-written minature white-board propped up in the window, and explaining that the office inside can help you if you’re trying to buy or sell a home, and would you please come in and shove some money their way, please?
It’s an estate agents.
I do not believe, youngish and formerly naive though I may be, that the mark of a successful estate agency is a whiteboard amongst the adverts for houses in the window explaining to people looking for houses that, uh, you buy and sell houses. Such as the ones they’re looking at.
It doesn’t necessarily mean the whole enterprise is in trouble, of course, and I don’t know the whole story, but I’m still a bit fed up, since I can’t help but feel it’s a bit ominous…
Hey ho.
Anyway, I’m back in Newport now, having made it though the barren and featureless wilderness that is Working Trains From Didcot To Oxford, and we’ve got a fairly brainless we-used-to-rent-this-house-to-students-leftover electricity meter here, so I’d better leg it before the damn thing starts sulking at me.
Have fun!