Balcony

I bought my own flat six months ago.  It has a balcony the size of a postage stamp and, since yesterday lunchtime, it has balcony furniture, so basically I have spent the last 36 hours lounging around on it, even tho it hasn’t actually been that warm.

My mate came round for lunch, and he said, “It suits your needs very well,” which makes it sound like I have bought an orthapedic mattress.  I haven’t.  I bought an outdoor sofa.

Any which way, I’ve basically done nothing all day except eat the roast my mate cooked and drink Prosecco, and watch Andy Murray win Wimbledon, and lie on my outdoor sofa.

I fell asleep for the two hours between Andy winning and Portugal playing France, with snoring and dribbling, if you believe the company I keep.  It’s been tiring, these last few weeks.

So I was a bit drunk, and the football is a bit dull.  I went to have a bath, which is what I always do when I am bored.  If I had been less drunk, I might have attempted to shave my legs, but…

It’s a long story, but some weeks ago I found myself near a Cowshed spa.  I couldn’t go in the Cowshed spa, I was working, but I had half an hour to kill, so I went to the shop and sniffed everything.

If I’m honest, everything was a bit meh, but I was stressed and focussed on something else entirely, and almost on autopilot I bought myself a bottle of Gorgeous Cow, although the truth is I don’t know why, I don’t really go for rose scents, unless they are Turkish delight.  I think maybe I was embarrassed to buy the sex one in front of my colleagues.

So I tipped it in the bath tonight and, honest to god, it smells like watered down Jolly Ranchers, or at least some kind of too-sweet boiled sweet.  It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t pleasant either, and almost certainly not worth £18 a pop.

To try and improve the lot of this bath, I used a honey scrub my mate bought me while we were on holiday in Morocco.  It was too much scrub and not enough honey, so I got out of the bath again.  Some you win, some you lose.

The football is in extra time.  My mate has poured me more Prosecco.  Andy Murray has won Wimbledon.  Life is OK.

 

 

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