A Writer of Sorts
After chores, I went out in the Bedford again. There’s an industrial estate about half a mile from where I used to live. It wasn’t there while I was living here first time round. I can’t remember what it used to be, but now there a load of warehouse stores and a cinema. Well. The remnants of. The builders supply place is still there, so I could grab the wood, MDF and dowelling and a couple of other bits and pieces I need for the animals.
I spend the rest of the rest of the morning hammering it onto the props in the cellar. I stopped for lunch, and by tea time, the cellar has transformed into a pretty usable animal shelter. Convincing them to use it is going to be the fun part. The goats are pretty inquisitive, so in all probability, they will investigate anyway. The chickens are likely to be more troublesome. I’m probably going to have to lock them in for a few days so they get used to it and disassemble the current coop while they are acclimatising.
Spent the evening in the utility room at the back of the kitchen priming some of the spare MDF for painting on. Hiller left a lot of pigments behind, so the tempera painting was only a matter of time, I suppose.
The woodwork and metalwork shops have been combined, so I guess I could use that space as some sort of studio. It’s a bit grand for someone who has never painted before and, frankly, can’t I draw to save my life, but it’s not like I don’t have the time to learn.
A little Bach before bed, I think.
Oh, that reminds me, I didn’t check the record player out to see if it worked. I suppose it was probably a bit damp and will have benefitted from drying out for a couple of days, anyway.