Trago Malfoy

It all went horribly wrong since the last time I spoke to you, and then got so much better. Rich and I were stressed, working too hard, taking on too much, and too wrapped up in our own problems to see those faced by each other. The move happened, the silences extended and my stay at Didds’ became a retreat.

Then I buggered off to London for work, some space was had, some moping, some writing, some yelling into mobiles. Truths were blurted, perspectives were restored and the things we hadn’t understood were acknowledged. We missed each other and by the time I got back we were on usual adoring form. Sounds quick, it was quick probably, but it felt like an age of hurt. This move/build has not been easy.

But what a beautiful thing to come back to! Richard took a day off work and managed to make huge progress while I was away…

I can see it, can you? (I was going to say "can you see what it is yet?" but Rolf Harris just got arrested for something well dodgy so I'm going to wait that out lest people think I'm being deliberately risque.

I can see it, can you?

Do you see? It’s a bedroom! A bedroom! Well, nearly. It will be so soon.

On Sunday we went Trago (the Cornish omit the “to” unless asking where something is – “where’s that to?”) and bounced around until we found the right memoryfoam mattress. Rich tried to convince me that it had to be taken out of its bag to air that night, but I produced proof that it didn’t in the form of the assurance of a chirpy shop attendant. I’m not having him press his form to its memory without me! We also bought all manner of paints and checked out fabrics and got as close to being interior designers as I’d ever want to. A pale yellow has been chosen, to be complemented by blues. Yikes.

Trago Mills is a crazy place, from the concrete statues of unpopular officials as you enter to the anti-Euro slogans that adorn huge placards as you exit. It’s a shopping centre, a day out, and a dive. You can (and we did) get everything from flip flops to tar, from art supplies to dog worming tablets. When you’re preparing to go it is customary to ask all you meet if they want anything, and then to return with most of what you wanted, all of what they wanted, and a selection of other crap that nobody wanted at all. And by twenty minutes to closing time it is a simmering pot of rage, ready to bubble over at any moment. Husbands snap at their wives’ taste in homewear, middle aged women chase their partners round cosmetics yelling “I thought you wanted this one!” – terse words and withering looks are exchanged as far as the eye can see. Fortunately Rich and I were feeling good and became a crack shopping unit, giggling and pointing and running around like Challenged Annekas. All trace of grump has gone. We win Trago.

I’m enjoying staying at Didds’ but I can’t wait to move on the boat. The overall feeling is that it’s nearly here… not all of it… just the bedroom… but A BIT. A whole bit of the boat, finished and ready. Something we’ve not had before – a sign that targets can be met, an accomplishment. And we’ve survived!

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