The Husband and I have returned from Edinburgh to our Scottish hideaway in the hills. Bus renovations have continued at a rapid rate and things are now at a very manageable level. Bus now contains fitted cream carpets with skirting boards (the installation of which nearly signalled the end of my marriage), a couch made from converted bus seats and carpeting, our little tin wood burner sits on off cuts of green marble and a nice Ikea floor lamp ‘lets there be light’.
As we are now able to heat water the Husband and I are enjoying higher levels of hygiene and physical contact (it’s nice when you don’t feel like gagging when your loved one brushes past you, although I believe this is what marriage reverts to with time, regardless of whether you live in a bus).
The Mediterranean and I spent a day making blinds out of off cuts of beading and a roll of white Pakistani cotton. My little fingers are pockmarked red from my needling efforts. Admittedly the stitches are not exactly uniform and are probably more akin to tacking than finely finished needle work, but the blinds hang more or less in an even manner and more importantly they save the sheep from having to see our naked bottoms as we commence our strip washing.
I’m probably a bit prudish about nakedness but I really don’t think my naked image should be burned upon the retinas of the unwilling, including sheep. I don’t think Europeans share my views on nudity. When I was looking after Frau, the crazy 90 year old German woman, she would summon me by pressing her doorbell button, the receiver which was with me at all times would then Ding-Dong frantically until I rushed to her aid. One night the Ding-Donging shrilled at midnight. I rushed to Frau’s room wiping sleep from my eyes, anticipating a medical drama. The vision which met me made me wish my sight was still blurry and sleep-encrusted - I was greeted by Frau standing in the middle of the room starkers except for her sheep skin slippers:
Frau: Ah, there you are. There is something I want to discuss. [Looking cool as a cucumber despite extreme nudity.]
Me: [Trying to maintain eye contact, must not let eyes wander to wrinkled fried egg bosom] A-hem, yes, it must be rather important, as it is midnight.
Frau: Ah, vell yes it is…my stools are very hard.
Me: [Using opportunity to look away, cast glance to cushioned chair in room] Well, I did plump the cushions before bedtime they shouldn’t be too hard.
Frau: No, no! [Lifting up arms to gesture, causing flopping naked breast wobble action, causing reflexive downward glance] Not my chairs, my stools! I am having trouble with my bowels. Tomorrow we must increase the dose of Lactulose and take a nice long walk.
Me: [Regaining contact with steely blue eyes, guilt flushed from boob-wobble glance] Ok, I’ll be sure to do that.
Frau: Goet, that vill be all!
This incident raised a number of questions in my mind, but most importantly, in any other workplace would your Boss to summon you into their office and stand around in their Birthday suit discussing their bowel movements?
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