No, I’m not envisioning the two buxom brunettes who once ably ran the Cat Head Inn; short of breath from hoisting yet another fresh keg of Burrow Hill cider up onto the bar. For the sake of propriety, not on this occasion at least....
No, I’m not envisioning the two buxom brunettes who once ably ran the Cat Head Inn; short of breath from hoisting yet another fresh keg of Burrow Hill cider up onto the bar. For the sake of propriety, not on this occasion at least.
Actually, we’re moving house. The heavyset hirsute blokes who effortlessly heave chests of drawers around are scheduled to arrive here with a small fleet of pantechnicons in just under a month.
Over the past number of years I have filled our Melbourne home with furniture I’ve made to the point we can barely move: Climbing into bed does actually involve climbing and excursions to the lavatory need to be strategised well in advance.
So we’re off to more commodious habitation in the gently undulating foothills of the Australian Alps to traipse barefoot through the lush green grass, cuddle koalas and spar with kangaroos! Actually there’s been a decade-long drought in the region, the koalas have Chlamydia and we’re more likely to encounter a kangaroo in the local shop. But it’s the country and that means lots and lots of space!
The simple task of sharpening a chisel in my current ten-foot-by-ten-foot workshop involves a tiresome Game of Fifteen, but not for much longer! I will soon be occupying a large shed with more than enough room to swing a cat in – which reminds me, I must get a good mouse-savvy moggy for the place. Do pet shops even exist in these times of heightened animal welfare awareness? Perhaps I should do the politically correct thing and recycle a used cat from the local animal shelter (which is also where I’m getting the goat from).
My sister, who lives in Greater London, was looking at some photos of our purlieu and remarked “Don’t see any neighbours”! Whilst my sister may suffer from autophobia, I am not in the least bit daunted by remoteness, and happen to thrive on solitude. However, should I ever feel the need of companionship or require urgent assistance, I am told there’s an affable neighbour about a mile to the south who will respond to three gunshots fired in quick succession… that’s assuming I don’t actually hit him.
As a result of the forthcoming upheaval, I will be absent from this confluence for a period while I establish ‘phone – and more importantly – internet connectivity at the new domicile. It looks like we will have to settle for basic wireless broadband: When I went to the local telco to enquire about hooking us up with an optical fibre connection or at the very least, fixed wireless, the staff fell silent, swapped glances with each other and proceeded to fall about laughing.
Well they won’t laugh so freely when they see me out walking my splendid new billy goat in my olive green galoshes; you mark my words!
Filed under: Distractions Tagged: Australian Alps, autophobia, Burrow Hill cider, Cat Head Inn