Eh? Oh, I am sorry, I seem to have strayed into the wrong blog there. I do hope I haven’t caused too much distress.
Right, I’m okay now. I was asked to explain how I came to possess a spare clothesline. But first I have a confession to make. In fact, when my old one broke under the weight of too many trousers and shirts, I did not, as implied, install the new one. Instead, I tied a knot in the old one, hauled it back up until the trousers were no longer dusting the patio, and took off into town to buy some CDs and books, and guitar strings and fingerpicks. I should have taken photos, it would have made this even more interesting.
So, why do I (still) have a spare clothesline? Serendipity, or perhaps synchronicity. Two weeks ago, K (who’s 88) announced that hers had broken. I offered, on my visit next day to Majestic for a top-up, to pop into the Range store next door and pick up a replacement, which I duly did. £1.40 for 20 metres, that’s not bad, is it? An hour after I got home, she phoned me to let me know that her kindly neighbour, Ray, had nipped up to B&Q, bought her a new line, and installed it. We both found this quite amusing. She offered to pay me the £1.40, but I said don’t be daft, I’ll hang on to it. It might come in useful, you never know.