Chairperson

I have chairs.  Whilst this may be met less with a hearty cheer than with a shrug at the bathos of it, having chairs pleases me.  I've always considered the ERASMUS programme to be a jolly good thing and at this time of year it's great, because all the ERASMUS students are buggering off and selling their stuff.  The four chairs were €30.  The moving-man had an apalling satnav.  He entered my address and then it told us to go somewhere else.  I just kept saying "No DON'T turn left" until we saw the castle and home was near.

The chairs are where they would be if there were a table and, hopefully by willpower alone, they will conjure one.  They look a bit daft, as if ready to start a reel, but it's good to work out how much space I'll need around them.  It has the look of a waiting room which, ho ho, could be a bloody metaphor, but let's not go there.  I'm too <select from drop-down list> to wait for anything any more.  The waiting is not exactly a choice, more a sort of default response.  You know: I'll do zumba when I'm less fat.  I think a lot of people do this.  And in so deferring you can defer a life away.

One of those inspiring and worthy posts on Facebook said something like today is the youngest you'll ever be, and was accompanied by a picture of a lady of pensionable age doing welding or something.  It is true without doubt that we will never be younger than we are at this moment. 

So: table next, and food on it, and people to sit at table.