Colours of the Day

This morning my husband casually slipped into the conversation that we had sufficient milk for breakfast. I am convinced that he has read yesterdays blog  <looks paranoid>.

This morning DH turned the shower on, and due to some pressure within the pipe, the shower head did a little wiggle. The water did not remain within the shower cubicle, as anticipated. Instead, it turned its full fury, first on DH, and secondly at the bathroom in general. Poor DH was so surprised at this unexpected baptism of unheated water, that he jumped, banging his head in the process. I slept blissfully through the whole episode.

Not being a morning person, I completely failed to observe his injury when I joined him at the breakfast table, or when he gave me a lift to work.

At lunchtime, I still did not spot his wound.

By mid-afternoon, he was so affronted by my failure in observation skills, that he made a point od drawing my attention to the lump that had developed on his forehead.
"The KHT spotted it straight away!" he announced and enlightened me on the shower-based soap  drama of the morning.
"Ah! That explains the VERY wet bathmat!" said I, in the tone of one who has spotted a crucial clue in an investigation.
"And the wet dressing gown on the door, and the towel in the wash basket - which I used to mop up the flood!" he replied, in the tone of one pointing out the additional evidence that another has failed to spot.
To cheer him up I took a photopgraph and added some sympathy...

This afternoon I found DH searching cookery books for alternatives to my tomato hit. (He MUST have read yesterday's blog.) Clearly wishing to reclaim the crown of 'best cook' - a title I am only too happy to relinquish!  In conversation today he discovered that, unlike most of the population, I really do not like fried onions. As he had planned to base his new season of gastronomic delights around fried onions, he was somewhat miffed.  Conveniently forgetting the red wine, paprika, turmeric or citric fruit he has eliminated from our catering, it is my dislike of onions that is proving to be the real stumbling block to him becoming a gastro chef...

Before Christmas, I vowed that in January I would purchase a new coat to supersede my comfy Old Purple Jacket, which was purchased in the sales, from a shop in Leamington that closed years ago. Back in the day, I paid around £20 for the jacket, so I think I have had my money's worth. A decade or so later and it is regrettably showing definite signs of ageing. The cuffs are looking rather worn and after years of being huddled around my body, the garment has become moulded to my shape - sadly saggy, battered and baggy. Old Purple Jacket is actually burgundy in colour, but everyone both thinks it is, and remembers it as, purple - until they take a second look. Maybe they just think I am old enough to wear that colour...

Yesterday morning we had a meeting at college to discuss the next stage in our daughter's education. Then we headed off to The Valley at Evesham, in search of a new bird feeder.  Whilst browsing a particular parrots paradise of brightness and glitter, I happened to spot a rather nice Black Coat.  I tried it on and it fitted. It was also vastly reduced, and then had an addition 15% discount deducted. Bargain!

Sold!

Black Coat and Old 'Purple' Jacket get acquainted

I do not expect Black Coat to last as long as the Old Purple Jacket, which shall be relegated to ringing jaunts. I do not imagine for one moment that the Black Coat will be as forgiving as Old Purple Jacket, which has been being scraped down numerous spiral staircases, through narrow corridors and dumped in dusty corners and still looked relatively respectable. Mind you, this rough treatment has probably contributed to its current shabby appearance and the definite signs of ageing it is evidencing.


By the evening DH's head is still looking slightly red. Meanwhile, we wait to see what colour that will go - black, purple, multicoloured, or will it just fade away...?

Thyme will tell.