Albert Popwell

The tatters of the weekend blew about my feet like a whirlwind of crisp pokes in a playground twister.
Plans had come to nothing, illness, inconvenience and insubordination seems to fit together quite well, so I’ll blame those.
I climbed into the attic to check the pressure on the heating (yes my filling loop is up there, what about it?) as it was gurgling when it came on for the hot water. I felt like I should be pushing a wooden box of dirt from my ever extending escape tunnel back to the hatch as I crawled about under the stupidly placed beams, but instead I climbed onto the roof.
It wasn’t a bad enough weekend that anything untoward was going to happen when I got up there, it’s just that summer takes the sunset out of view and the colours spilling over to the front were so damned cheerful I wanted to soak some of it up.
I wonder what the neighbours though of the bloke on the roof with a headtorch and a camera?
There’s been no sirens, so maybe the curtain twitchers were a’ watchin’ the fitba.

4 thoughts on “Albert Popwell

  1. I was one of those mugs watching the fitba and when it went to extra time went thru to the kitchen and saw the self same amazing sky and thought – arse!!! – I could have been out watching that instead, far more interesting

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