Close Encounters

No mashed potato was harmed in the production of this image.
Can you tell where the loft-hatch is?



I have sent a copy of this, along with another of the bathtub after I had scraped around the top of the bathroom extract fan with a recyclable plastic fork (I'll spare you that one), to the agent who is supposed to be dealing with the situation. I had contemplated printing the two images and applying them to their shop front but decided that provocation was probably not in my best interests, and anyway, their shop window is protected by a steel roller shutter. Unusual practise for an estate agent don't you think?

Normally I enjoy a soak in the bath on a Sunday, but I haven't considered that an option since returning from Greece a fortnight ago to find the seal around the extract fan broached.

So I have spent this afternoon sitting reading in my Goldilocks armchair instead of reading in the bath. I am currently reading “Bombs on Aunt Dainty”, the first sequel to “When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit” by Judith Kerr. Kindly purchased for me by my mum when it was discovered that there is not a single copy in any of the Medway libraries.

I was struck by the fact that following Germany's invasion of Russia, the Blitz in London calmed down to such a degree that the National Gallery felt bold enough to put on an exhibition of French Impressionist paintings, fetching them from their safe havens.

It has never really dawned on me before that all those great paintings; the Vermeers, the Canalettos, the Rembrandts, the Mona Lisa and so very many others were kept safe from the deadliest military conflict in history while one third of the world's human population lost their lives.

Yes, populations recover and treasures do not, but it's a sobering reflection on What Really Matters to decision-makers.