Khazi kapers......

Having finally stopped procrastinating, I book a plumber to replace my cringeworthy downstairs loo, as time is running out.... I don't mean that the world is coming to an end, simply that No. 2 sprog is coming to stay with me for a few days to get some TLC whilst recovering from her arthroscopy. She will be somewhat incapacitated, so will have to use the downstairs bog during the day, rather than run the risk of kebabbing herself with her crutches if she falls down the stairs!

Using the same company that produced The Lovely Marcus in previous times of crisis, a Lovely Duncan appears promptly on my doorstep to Suss Out The Job. Friendly but professional, he whips me into a frenzy of excitement over porcelain pans, ceramic cisterns and talk of close coupling........ then teasingly leaves me breathless, to ponder his measurements. Like all true gentlemen, he courteously rings the next day to arrange another date, and still aglow after our previous encounter, I eagerly anticipate his next visit........

The day of reckoning arrives, as does Duncan, punctual as ever, and I entrust him with a key: alas, I have to go to work, leaving him to do what he will with my plumbing. He assures me that he will take care of my moggy and promises not to let her escape the confines of the house until I return. Despite the knowledge that he himself has cats, I worry all day that my feline Houdini will outsmart him whilst he is concentrating on my U-bend and it is with some degree of trepidation that I return home after work to inspect the sanitation situation......

I need not have fretted: the cat is still indoors, as is evidenced by the small furry torpedo which launches out of the front door as I let myself in, and after letting the Lovely Duncan have the run of my home, all appears to be as it should be. No dirty coffee cups in the sink (other than the weeks' worth that I'd left already) and no mess anywhere. I begin to wonder if he'd actually BEEN, excuse the pun..... However, peering into the downstairs khazi to check for evidence of his handiwork, I find a pristine piece of porcelain standing regally to attention like a virginal throne - which indeed it is! I duly admire the gleaming beast and go to inspect the dreaded invoice, which curiously has a PS. Duncan has left me a billet doux - with instructions on How To Use Your New Loo...... On closer inspection, I understand why. Apparently, the flush has a hair trigger, and should inquisitive moggy clamber onto the cistern, there is every chance that she could flush herself down the pan! I hastily lower the lid to prevent such a watery end for said feline.

Delighted with the service that Duncan has performed, and impressed with his clean habits, (he even hoovered up after himself!) I immediately write a reply to his note - albeit in the form of a cheque - and send it post-haste to his company. I note that sadly, he left my key behind, so I assume our relationship is at an end and that I must find other gentlemen to entertain me.......

.......Until I read his PPS on the back of the invoice. Is it his phone number? An invitation to dinner? A promise to take me away from all this and show me things I've never even dreamed of?

No...... but my taps need changing! Grinning sappily, I reach for the phone...........

Down and Out........

For some time now, I have noticed a somewhat unsavoury character slouched in the doorway of a sleazy establishment known locally for its Ladies of the Night. Every afternoon without fail as I drive home from work, I see this dubious gentleman laid across the steps of this infamous institution, come rain or shine - and even when it’s persistently pouring, he is still stretched out like Cerberus guarding the gates of the Underworld, clutching a beer can in his grimy paw. He has been a fixture of this doorway for so long, that when I round the corner one day to find the doorman has deserted his post, I am momentarily disconcerted but give it no more thought as I wend my weary way home.........

However later in the week, I discover what has become of Cerberus........he’s gone on his summer holidays!

For three days now in the sweltering heat of an Indian summer, I have passed a ‘body’ lying against a garage wall en route to work, the only evidence of life being the varying positions it assumes each day. Usually cocooned immobile in a filthy blue sleeping bag, various extremities take it in turns to protrude from one end or another - sometimes feet (still shod) and occasionally woolly-hatted head, but there is one thing that is always in place...... a large half-empty bottle of dubious golden liquid. I shudder to think of the possible contents.

This morning however, his sleep is obviously disturbed, and trapped in the crawling traffic jam, I watch with interest as he wriggles within his nylon cocoon like some monstrous chrysalis ready to disgorge its unlovely contents into the outside world. Then, just as the traffic begins to move on, the chrysalis splits and vomits forth a tousled and filthy Cerberus onto the grass where he stretches his wings, belches, scratches his genitals and turns to pee against the garage wall he calls home...........

I drive on to work, content in the knowledge that at least someone is watering the parched grass..........

AH.............VIENNA!

Having been excitedly planning our joint birthday trip to New York for some months now, daughter suddenly throws a spanner in the works, decides that she can’t afford it after all and pulls out, leaving me in a frenzy of indecision....

Do I continue with my dream and go alone to New York? Do I travel halfway across the world to be on my own in a city where we had planned sightseeing trips, shopping excursions and a long-held desire to pay my respects at the World Trade Centre?

Nope.

In a move that would shock most indecisive Librans, I opt to shelve NY for the time being, and change plans, dreams and continents to go visit a new-found friend in Vienna. After all, she travelled solo to London to meet a bunch of strangers she’d only met over the internet, so why can’t I do the same and visit her in her homeland?

Decision made, I start planning anew, intending to take my new chum out for our birthday dinner - we were born on the same day, albeit ten years apart - and go and buy a Viennese guide book to find my way about the city.

First things first - GET A BLOODY PASSPORT!!

Next - check flights and hotels..... Then it occurs to me that perhaps I should ask her if she is available for such a visit - and indeed, if she even WANTS a visitor! To my relief, happily she does, and even offers me her apartment to stay in, so there is no need to book a hotel..........

Vienna - home of Sachertorte and Schnitzel - here I come!

Elb addicted........

I'm easily led, and when I like something, I REALLY like something.....

A fellow scribbler raved for some time about a particular brand of notebook, and finally - intrigued by the zealot-like adoration of these things, I bite the bullet, take the bovine by the sharp protruberances and succumb to the hype.

My first parcel is delivered to my place of work, and with trembling fingers, I eagerly liberate the small black book from its packaging, break the cellophane seal and....... nothing. Zero. Not a sausage. No bolt of lightning - no choirs of angels - just a 9 by 14 centimetre notebook with creamy ruled pages... and a handy little pocket at the back for those essential bits and bobs.... I was expecting something more somehow, and slightly disappointed, I put it aside as I carry on with my daily work.....

These seemingly harmless little black notebooks however, hide a sinfully wicked secret, and it isn't long before I feel the pull of the innocent black book enticing me away from the gritty reality of work, seducing me beyond the dark covers into the pure unsullied sheets inside..... Guiltily, I down tools and pick up a pen. Write is wrong - I should be working! I put the pen down again, but the force from the dark side is too strong, and like an alcoholic let loose in an off-licence, I descend swiftly into the madness of Moleskine addiction.........

It's only a matter of moments before I understand what all the hype is about, and I find myself fondling the sleek black cover before delving inside again to the smooth, pristine pages - hesitating but a moment before I mar them with a harsh slash of black ink, and change their virginal state irrevocably...... Startled by the effect, I pause - realise that there is no going back - and gleefully embrace the culture of Moleskine...............

It's official.

My name is Elb, and I'm a Moleskine addict...........