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Tuesday, July 13, 2004

What writer - even of a blog - doesn't understand Bartleby? 'I am not willing.' No, I don't feel willing to write anything today; but will do my best.

Life goes on. Wind has abated somewhat, but murkiness increases. No sign of sun. Think I'm suffering - or will suffer soon - from hill Canarian summer version of SAD. Can be abated somewhat by going down to the coast - but there it's all work - for us - plus tourists.

Beloved's beloved K has gone home. Beloved and granny now have to supply attic woman's food and household goods; yesterday's trip to sun was also trip to cash and carry and hunt for washing powder, loo paper, etc, also items like tinned fruit and soup which granny only bought under protest on island where fresh fruit and vegetables in season all year round, thereby making above items redundant as well as a) unhealthy and b) expensive to boot....: full of zeal and righteousness, this member of the food police will sail into action with carers, nothing raises the spirits more than feeling RIGHT!! - in this mood she might even offer carers cooking lessons, but doubts if this will go down well either. Handsome from Blackburn is slated to do the shopping hereafter, but as far as fresh food goes granny doesn't think she trusts him, so will undertake that herself.

Cash and Carry's gloomy aisles full of over-weight expat bar owners etc buying large amounts of processed foods...more opportunities for feeling superior. Oh God. (And for not eating at said bars either..)

Good olive oil though - better than that likely to be on offer atany English equivalent.

First lot of fig jam etc made. 3 jars of rosewater and cardomum flavoured, two larger jars of compote flavoured with star anise; a good pudding, I think, with Greek yogourt which you can get here. Picked six pounds of figs on Sunday, there'll probably be as many today; granny will have to decide what to do with them this time.

Still reading her friend Mira's book; appositely there was a programme on Channel 4 last night about Himmler and the mad expedition to Tibet that he set up to look for signs of a Master Race in a whole lot of baffled Tibetans. Followed by similar more lethal experiments on Jew and gypsies etc back in the Fatherland. Granny comes away from both reminded of and as ever astonished - as well as horrified - by the wholly casual as well as determined brutality of it all.

Beloved off delivering money to attic woman's carers.

Granny has to plug in her Dysgo any minute and look at book abandoned in such haste on the day her daddy died. Not a welcome prospect, but necessary. I AM UNWILLING.

Perhaps will walk dogs first. (They have to be shut up now after developing tendency to disappear to distant field in search of God knows what, which might make Beloved and Grannyp deeply unpopular locally so must be aborted.)

Bloody cat got out last night and spent darkness pursuing outside animalitos rather than the ones within which he's there for. Signs of mice diminish admittedly. No sign of more cockroaches either, other than one Handsome swore at Saturday lunchtime was waving its tentacles underneath the door to the back, spying out the ground, but which turned out merely to be an old thread of something or other.

Two downstairs showers started letting out noisesome smells again and had to be dealt with hastily. Some better remedy has to be found - but what?

Land all dead; except for some yellow flowers on hardy bushes. And Granny did find one of the bright blue 'forgetmenots' which, since acquiring plant book, she now knows to be a variety of pimpernel, nothing to do with forgetmenots really.

Few birds now; but a shrike or two has been seen.

One triumph. Cat's pulling phone off desk and breaking it meant trip to acquire another, post Cash and Carry; this a) has removable handset so phone can now be heard other than in kitchen; and b) can be plugged along with computer into double jack meaning granny and her beloved will no longer, either, be cut off from world by forgetting to replace computer jack with phone jack when they go offline.

Eureka. Some people sell writings - research - talents for millions. WE JUST HAVE A WORKABLE PHONE. Almost makes up for next year's writing course being cancelled owing to vagaries of students. (NOT A TRIUMPH EXACTLY.)

Cleaner cleaning house too, so today all will be beautiful and clean(ish). Good.

Hasta luego. Granny Pxxx

Dvorak's cello concerto on Radio Classica could be worse.

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