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Like a thief in the night...

Only it isn't night-time. It's Sunday morning and at around six-thirty my wife, 'er indoors, she who shall be obeyed, Lady and Mistress of all that she surveys and it isn't much, has finished her ablutions and is sat watching the tv. Cramming as much of whatever rubbish gets aired at this time of day into her soap-filled head before it's time for her to leave. I, sitting quietly, out of sight and out of mind, so far as one can be, out of sight and mind, sharing a home with one's other half, living life, as I do, on the periphery, wait for her to leave, then, by seven she's out of the door and I'm left to my own devices. Me, devices, now there's a thought. Not.

I quickly swing into action, exaggeration of course, clothed with old work-kit and boots with wood-stain and paint brush at the ready, I have fence panels to coat. Nine to be exact and I must do it as swiftly and as quietly as I can, trying not to disturb neighbours and hoping that I can finish before any of them show. The woman who lives in the house down-street from us will be out early standing in the back porch drawing heavily on whatever it is she smokes and it is "she", I don't do ​names, who I must beat to the draw on this fine sunny morning. The race is on.

There are those who question the wisdom of weather-proofing wooden fences, claiming that however dry the wood might seem, unless you happen to live in Africa or the like, it will hold some small level of moisture therein and once you've weather-proofed it not only can moisture not penetrate, or so the belief goes, but equally moisture cannot escape. That said, assumed, moisture is locked in ultimately causing it to rot from within. I do wonder about that but at least a freshly stained fence looks nice for a while.

The panel nearest to the house is the first get a coating and the first few are done in a rush. I'm desperately keen to get clear of the back-door in the hope that working away from the house lessens the possibility of detection. I work on, tramping through a knee-high tangle of who know's what. I'm no gardener. It's just a few minutes after eight and the deed is done. I scurry down the garden path, leaving tub of stain, brush and boots at the door and go to get myself cleaned up. YES! Job done. Also it's getting hot out there already and It's a relief to get back indoors.

Like a thief in the night, some down at heel parasitic low-life, I steal​ into my own house, and clean myself up. Then my attentions are turned to my boots and paint-brush, and now I have and empty plastic tub with handle , might hang onto that. As i step back outside with a bowl of hot soapy water my neighbour is outside. I don't see her, I don't look, but I can smell the smoke and pretend not to notice. I empty the contents of my bowl into the empty wood-stain tub, slosh my brush around in it a couple of times then leave it there to soak.

Time for a jar or three I think.




Well you have been busy this morning Dither I think you deserve a jar or three. I hope you enjoy the rest of your Sunday.

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