Monday, November 08, 2010

pace, waiting, brush

Waiting at a pedestrian crossing in Frant Road this afternoon I indulge in one of my favourite movie clichés, when someone in  a hurry, driven to get to the other side of the road,  by lust, grief or fear,  charges through the traffic, vaulting car bonnets or dances in between it like a matador drawing in his stomach as sweeping mudguards  and bumpers all but knock him flat. Alas even if driven by any of the requisite emotions, I have lost  every vestige of the agility (and irresponsibility) needed to accomplish such an escapade.

In the window of the posh gardening shop in Chapel Place I gaze at an implement called a "behind cupboard brush". It is shaped like a very fine, shepherds' crook, with the hook at the top edged with a crop of fine bristles which run down  a few inches down the handle, a bit like a Mohican haircut. Most of our cupboards are fitted, though I can see that it might be good behind radiators and the odd  free-standing bookshelf.  I enjoy looking at it,  but much as I love tools of all sorts, I  can place it  pretty high on the growing list of tools that I do not want.
Posted by PicasaA pair of sandal-clad feet in motion.

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