No, not that sort of Saki.....

A most pleasant week ensued, following firm direct action after a tedious encounter with one of those individuals generally known as an oxygen thief (see last week's post).  The sun shone, the birds twittered (in the original meaning of the word).  The thing about not bothering with bozos is that it does annoy them so.....if you ignore them you cut off their oxygen.  There's none left to waste in fatuous argument.  I yawn in their general direction.

A visit from a good friend from the big city was most enjoyable, we ate chocolate mousse in our jammies, watched Ab Fab and drank Port.  The garage sales and opshops were disappointing but we had fun looking. 

I've been re-reading  some short stories by Saki (Hector Hugh Munro), whose sense of humour was certainly well ahead of his time.  Mrs Packletide's Tiger, and Tobermory are classics and highly recommended.  He had a particularly wicked, black sense of humour.  A strange mix of  PG Wodehouse and Downton Abbey, with werewolves.

A quick trip to the tip shop yesterday yielded a positive pile of reading material - thank you, Kindlepersons, for donating your analogue reading material, it's much appreciated.  Today, we had scheduled an outing to the Denmark tip shop, where we were spoilt for choice in special acquisitions.  My co-shopper grabbed 6 matching dining chairs, a box of table legs, a table (coincidentally missing a leg), some brand new tools, and some other fab finds to fill up her newly excavated shed.  Sadly, the Albany tip shop remains positively dull in comparison.

We pondered briefly on the whereabouts of the missing leg.  Was it perhaps kept for sentiment's sake? 

I found some marvellous old panels at Denmark, which will make a folding screen.  I've been looking for something along these lines for ages and these are perfect.  I also got some tiny things in a nice pottery bowl, an Alice in Wonderland book for a special girl, a table base, a small wooden cheese platter, and some other odds and sods. I missed a fantastic white curly iron and wooden table by a whisker.  It was touch and go whether it would have fitted in the car, but it was so lovely.

I've been getting ready to frame some new drawings and prints, making some jewellery and getting ready for some more starships.

And another kind friend brought me the mummified carcasses of two tiny birds (I'm assured they died of natural causes).  My cup runneth over.  

Every town needs a jester, I suppose.

My resolution this week is to be less gracious with the self-seeking and self-important, the endlessly complaining and the relentlessly boring.  Especially those who achieve all of those special qualities together, and feel that the rest of the world would benefit from sharing their unique insights into everyone elses' failings.  Constantly. 

I figure that I've been patient, polite, and well mannered for years.  I've listened to, and read concepts so blindingly silly that US comedy writers would kill for them. I've been regaled with arguments so cretinous that most peoples' eyes would have remained crossed for years without a change in the wind.  Conspiracy theories so asinine that Days of Our Lives or Today Tonight would consider them fatuous.  Yet they still keep going. Yak, yak, yak. Tap, tap, tap.  Look at me, look at me.

Isn't it a miracle that they're always right? How is it that everyone else is always so wrong? 

Perhaps my mistake was pretending to be interested. Or thinking that rationality is a cogent argument.

A good test is their complete inability to recognise irony. I wonder if it's possible to develop some other sort of test (perhaps something they breathe on, like a breathaliser, since they always have lots to say) which could  flash 'Run Away Now' to those around in large red letters.  Some sort of siren would be handy.

A very good and wise friend lives by the maxim that he wouldn't want to die not knowing, and he wouldn't like you to, either.  I think that we would be performing a community service by sharing the truth with the perennially pompous, the neverendingly narcissistic, and the incessantly idiotic. 

They won't stop, of course, but we won't have to listen to it.  Once, you would have to go out to seek them out.  With the interweb, they lurk wherever they can, insinuating themselves into other's interactions and deluding themselves that people aren't deleting and or blocking them. 

And frankly, if you're thinking "that's terrible, I'm going to leave a comment here", you're probably one of them.  Think about it, while I block you.

A bit deco, a bit mid century, a bit retro.

A happy, happy weekend.  On Friday, I walked into the first opshop for the day and saw an adorable coffee table, needing minimal work.  A bit deco, a bit mid century, a bit retro.  Needs to lose the ghastly brittle varnish, and a gentle resurrection of the surface in a couple of spots, but a Nice Item.

Saturday's garage sales took us to a builder who was selling up excess stock, and among the plasterboard and other stuff we discovered some seriously good, but seriously BIG bits of timber. Some looked ex-railway (still with metal fittings), some would seem to be ex-jetty - is it wrong of me to pick something I'll need a forklift to move?  It's on till next weekend so I'm considering some mid-sized pieces. I know a man with a forklift.

Although I'm sad that Cull's House, on Middleton Road here in Albany has been sold, I'm happy that the contents sale was handled by a friend of mine, who knew what he was doing, and that I got some interesting little bits.  This is one of the oldest and probably most original house in Albany.  Many of the contents were original  and there were some great old quirky bits and pieces for sale.

I hope that someone thought to photograph the interior of the house before the contents were moved out.  It's so important to document this stuff. The house was built by Matthew Cull in 1872, and occupied by the family for 117 years.

For those who want to read more here is a link to the entry for the house on the State Heritage Register.

 

 

 Also gathered was a really nice box full of old PMG canvas post bags. (PMG was the Post Master General -  the post office or what we now call Australia Post) There is even a bag of sealing wax, used to seal the lock on the bag, and some of the little stamps and holders.  If anyone wants vintage sealing wax, I would appear to have cornered the market.

   I found a whole lot of old Public Works Department (PWD) maps of Albany, which make for interesting reading.  I love those old maps, some of these have annotations in pencil with the lot prices  and other little notations.  There's so much texture and feeling to these old documents, so much more soul than a computer generated map.

 

 

There were also some old galvanised  jugs, and old blue enamel pot, and a very old indeed religious picture in a sweet old frame, with the back of old boards held in with handmade nails.  

 

Not to mention a dear little handmade box, looks to have been made from a crate, with a glass top and a black velvet and lace cushion within.  Looks to be depression era or earlier, meant for display because the back was nailed on with the same very old handmade nails.  I don't know why I wanted it but I just did.

There was some confusion about a bench for a wringer - wet clothes on one side, eventually slightly less wet clothes on the other.  No wringer attached but a nice rustic piece.  I may have run out of money. And space.