Dusted

As I was waiting for things to download, upload, whatever, I realised today's blip could end up in the style of the introduction to a chapter of a Victorian novel, in which

I run around trying to get a word document onto a CD that has just been charged up with three photos for a competition for the tram and railway company after discovering my PC screen does not function

I find I do not understand apple macs and hope I have not annoyed its owner by messing up its setup screen

I alarm the staff at the train and tram depot by persuading them to slip my finally complete CD into the ranks of other hopefuls'

I have a series of confusing coffees and conversations, increasingly confused as the coffee takes effect, meanwhile trying to understand the foibles of four handsets for one t.v. screen, finally having to resort to sticking on labels saying such things as "Do not use the volume control on this one!"

I buy all but one copies of the the Mallorca Daily Bulletin available, because it has several of my pictures in it, one whole page spread (p4) with Shirley's article from Saturday's football game and one action shot next to the paper's name (cover) (I am so childishly excited about seeing my name credited, I show it to everyone in town that I know. They are faintly amused at my enthusiasm.)

My presence at the writers' group is felt by the usual fleeting poetry bit and topics pass from responsibility within art, to complex family relations, to being in someone's pocket literally, whilst we all get thoroughly (but delightfully) dusted with the pictured yellowy stuff

Postcards are scattered around town in the hopes of making a few Euros

I play a bit of piano and then negotiate payment terms with the Director of the music school

Things reach a desperate level, as I discover Agu is in a concert in one hour's time and is supposed to be wearing a special T shirt which I cannot afford and so has to go dressed in black (much more stylish anyway). I change my son's clothes in the darkness at the back of the chapel

I am entertained by a sugar coated four year old for the entire concert in which Agu mouths the words to the Enchanted tree and a three year old plays his debut on the piano consisting of just one note repeated many times to rapturous applause

We finally eat something after I discover the contents of the packet of couscous I intended to cook is infesting with small green crawly things

We eat a whole packet of turron blando, have a chapter of Mr Gum and I retire to the sitting room wrapped in a tartan blanket

I don't think I'll bother with writing the actual chapter. It seems a bit dated now.