It's the sort of thing that, if it were toothpaste, would really get on one's tits, but with hookers green, titanium white, cerulean blue and naples yellow, screwed up tubes with strangled necks and gunky tops are OK. Kind of sexy.
Julian is moving out slowly and into his staircaseless space with no electricity but a good dose of God-given light. He has bought an easel next to which he is a dwarf and from which he could hang several bugles along with his brushes; a real one man show! I am scraping squirls of solidified colour off tables, moving canvasses of melancholy portraits of me when I was thinner, arranging endless rows of ravaged kitchen roll, and packing the collection of beautiful things.
"If you're going downstairs, could you just take this box?"
Suddenly I hear the mighty split and splatter of broken pottery, and the bijoux collection of white Astier de Villatte, the Cornish jug and a Sicilian plate, all of which have been presents to my love are smashed on the floor. Thank God the irreplaceable David Garland cup, Julian's favourite piece, has survived.
Slowly slowly and not without some letting go, I am starting to clear a space for me. This room will be a room of my own - something which I have dreamed of, within the comfort and chaos of married life, for many years. In it I am going to put a large cushion on which to meditate, and a desk at which to write and from which I can stare at the mountain. Maybe one day I might even play some chamber music in it. MMMM...a nice Haydn trio....
Meanwhile, since we are so busy, Oscar has been checking out new cars....