Yesterday, I negated the aimless and unhelpful ponderings I awoke with by indulging in spring cleaning the dining area of la maison de Strachan.
I’m going to avoid the obvious gag the spring cleaning entailed me sitting on the Axminster removing excess oil from the springs of my motorbike. Firstly, I haven’t got a motorbike, Additionally, if I had I wouldn’t be stupid enough to clean the springs in the dining area, there’s not enough space…… I’d use the lounge!
Incidentally, the Axminster is a carpet, not some northern English colloquialism for my (our indeed anyone else’s) posterior.
So my Sunday afternoon was spent clearing the bookcase of literary offerings, LP records, family photos and the memory sticks I hadn’t realised resided there. A task I undertook to a background accompaniment of old 1970s hits on an Apple Music playlist.
Following a good clean of the bookcase, along with a thorough dusting of the contents I’d removed, I returned the now pristine items back onto the shelves. This task undertaken to a backdrop of Slade’s version of Do the Shake & Vac to Put the Freshness Back.
My chore wasn’t just the task of making the bookcase and contents spick and span, it also entailed applying a coat of emulsion paint to the walls. It was during this time I started pondering what the hell was on the memory sticks I found!
Could it be the marmite fetish movie I uploaded from the net last year, I mulled?
That film was hard-hitting film noire in which a maverick Frenchman controversially ate vegemite on toast without applying butter or margarine. Critics labelled it as Last Tango in Paris without the butter and it certainly ‘took no prisoners’. Apart from the court scene, where the Frenchmen was jailed for 3 months for inappropriate use of vegemite.
This act, which is even outlawed in the liberal Scandinavian countries, is known to those in the Marmite underworld as ‘going condiment commando’.
The movie was a disturbing ninety minutes of ‘entertainment’ that, although not putting me off the product (which I regularly consume), shook me to the core. It was a real eye opener witnessing, in such graphic detail, how horribly users can abuse Marmite
Please note – I don’t ordinarily upload movies from the internet. However, I do have dispensation from the Whitkirk Copyright Society to copy any film footage whose content relates to Marmite, Bovril and English Mustard.
This caveat is at my disposal thanks to a loophole I spotted in the 1982 Condiment Copyright Act…… I knew watching hours of Suits on Netflix would pay dividend one day!
In conjunction with my wife’s efforts, the spring clean turned what would have been a dull Sunday into a productive few hours. After all, it wasn’t as though the rugby league ‘Magic Weekend’ was on TV……. Oh, hold on a minute!
When I replenished the bookcase shelves with the newly clean books, LP records and family photos, I gave the seven self-published books I’ve written a shelf spot marketing men would class as product placement.
Perched on a shelf adjacent to a Paul Simon album and below a picture of my wife and I (in which I’ve just noticed I look wall-eyed) proudly sits my own art, erratic of thoughts and even more erratic of grammar.
It was a good team effort by Karen and I yesterday. As a result the dining room now adorns fresh paintwork, is significantly less dusty and displays my self-indulgently placed diaries, containing thoughts from a portal in my mind labelled ‘Handle with care’.
I’m going to bring this blog to a conclusion now, I need to check how my online upload of English Mustard – The Movie is progressing.
