Saturday, 6 October 2007

Sex, violence, clothes hangers (pick one)

I do my best mental blogging in the bath. Which is unfortunate, because while I'm in the bath is probably the worst possible time to be able to post anything, and, like today, I usually forget all the interesting (and by interesting, I mean, inane but occasionally entertaining) things I want to write about. So we're left with domestic diaries, I'm afraid.

In that vein, today my major accomplishment was organising my clothes in the closet. In some respects, my wardrobe has had to shrink dramatically since moving to England. I mean, in quantity, not size. If anything, I've put on a little weight in the last few years, taking me from almost-invisible-sideways to just-barely-legal-for-blood-donation (I'm not thin, I'm just small-boned... who am I kidding, I'm thin). There are multiple reasons for the wardrobe downsizing, but chiefly it's been motivated by the practical limits of London closet space. That, coupled with the higher replacement costs of most clothing, means I'm focusing more on quality over quantity these days. But the closet had become cluttered with all the leftover hangers from this process, so I ended up binning a good three or four dozen of the cheapest ones, mostly the simple metal kind that had been collected from various multi-continental dry cleaning binges over the last decade (would I be showing my impoverished roots by admitting that I never had an item of clothing dry-cleaned once before I was a married man? Or is dry-cleaning just one of those things that happens to men when they start spending too much time with those of the fairer sex?).

Anyway, that rearranging process (which included a little dessert course of shoe organising), and watching a good deal of television, constituted my Saturday. Or in other words, you didn't miss much. Maybe next time I'll take a notepad into the bath. Until then, stay tuned, because I can't wait to tell you what I had for lunch.


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