"I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine" doesn't really work when you live alone. And so I bought a version of a loofah to give my spine a well-earned scrub. Only every time I got in the bath I noticed that the scrubber was hanging on the back of the bathroom door, limp and useless, out of reach. This morning back and loofah connected finally, but what a kerfuffle! I felt like Houdini manoeuvering it into place, hands getting caught up in loops, elbows trapped in twisted hooks. Or that Indian goddess with all the arms only most of them had been amputated. By the time I'd finished I was as exhausted as if I'd conducted the 1812 Overture. And then I noticed that several of my back moles had been decapitated by the exfoliating action. I won't go into details, but I'm aware of all the violent imagery in this piece. I'll keep an eye on it. I don't want it getting out of hand.
I played bridge with H this afternoon, and as usual it was hilarious. We ended up at her place, when she gave me a glass of wine. This was a South African glass of wine, not a normal one, and a top up had emptied the bottle. God, it's a long time since I drove home with my nose on the steering wheel, clinging desperately to my side of the lane as the odd car approached me in the dark. I'm safely back now, and I'm not doing that again. Not until next Wednesday anyway.
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