The Glassman Cameth, and other stories

I don’t know about you, but when I’m hanging around waiting for a crucial phone call or doorbell, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else.  Today, I could be excused this character defect, because I wasn’t allowed to get on with many of the things I should have done.  I couldn’t do much in the way of tidying and cleaning until Forensics came, and there was no point in Glassman attending before Forensics.  And I found it impossible to settle down to a book or a movie.  I couldn’t even summon the willpower to throw away the Christmas presents.  (Only kidding: see below.)

Anyway, Forensics came and dusted for prints of finger and foot and whatever else they do.  He didn’t hold out a lot of hope: Idiot was apparently smart enough to wear gloves, and the shoes were, well, just shoes.  This was confirmed within an hour or so by phone.  The case is still open, obviously, and they’re looking for tie-ins with other similar ones.  They’ll catch Idiot eventually, but I’m losing interest in that.  (Although I’d like to meet him face to face and explain to him, at length, exactly what he’s done, until he breaks down in tears.  I could do it, and society would benefit in a small, not big, way.)

The glass people had promised to come ‘as soon as possible’ today and do their best.  That is exactly what happened.  An exhausted but charming young Glassman arrived at seven thirty this evening, all ready to do boarding up or whatever it took to make me safe.  He’d been doing this for ten hours.  We quickly agreed that nothing more could practically be done to make me safe.  I’d been worried about the glass in the small leaded window in the living room, which has been there since 1929 (the glass, I mean, as well as the room).  “Amber Flemish,” he said.  “We can find that.”  As he left, he shook his head and said something about Idiot which made me laugh.  “Looks like he was more interested in the box than the present.”

Which leads me neat(ish)ly on to other news:

• The Boxing Day fourteen-part harmony sing-song went pretty well.  In fact it went pretty well for about two hours, until I claimed blisters on my fingers.  (And by the way, does anyone know why, according to the authorities, it was Ringo rather than George or Paul who shouted that?  Drummers don’t get blisters on their fingers, do they?)
• I joked about throwing away presents, but some of them, eventually, will be.  There’s a limit to how many jars of home-made chutney a guy can get through in a year.
• The major present was a Kindle.  I will research further.  The instruction manual says ‘plug it in’.