I’ve discussed this phenomenon before, but I return to it because it’s just so damn true: all my most vivid memories of “this week” are from towards the end of it.
What happened at the beginning? I think we removed a stove – now it’s resting incongruously outside the front door – it would be fun if the Google Street View car could drive past while it’s still there.
At the weekend, in preparation for the eventual stove successor, a man visited from either the distribution network operator or Électricité de France – I like to imagine a lazy stereotype with a hooped top and onions, or remember the bit in Linda Smith’s A Brief History of Timewasting where the English National Opera are supplying gas.
I voted again. You do not need a poll card to vote, so I leave it at home, lest anyone think I think I need a poll card to vote, or think they need a poll card to vote. But last time there was some protracted Kafkaesque business as the officials searched for my address in their list. This time, it wasn’t so bad, but still I really ought to make their jobs easier by bringing my poll card. Next time.
I rewarded myself for voting by standing in a field with my bicycle in a ditch, to make a photographic image of a bus. The bus that appeared was less interesting than I’d hoped, so I didn’t bother. Transport Designed thrillingly used another of my pictures this week – it’s a hollow victory as there are better alternatives available from other people, which show off the refinement of Southwold and things, but only mine happens to be permissively licenced.
I had a pleasant wander around the seaside, and a disappointing crab sandwich, and added some benches to Open Benches. And why not?