Emptying my brain before filling it again

Husband tells me he knew a Trevor who went everywhere by bus. At least now I know the inspiration for my jotting even if I don't know where it's going, if anywhere. Even on the bus. Actually I have a bus pass; perhaps I could spend a day travelling around Swansea on the bus place- and people-watching and come back with loads of ideas. Hmm. But not before Christmas.

* * * * * * * * * 

I managed to catch my new(-ish) gilet on a bramble and it has a tiny tear from which stuffing is escaping. I showed it to Granddaughter2 saying I'd have to mend it. 'Yes,' she nodded solemnly. 'You'll have to sellotape it.'

A girl after my own heart. Her mother, my daughter, is a keen sewer, a fact that has often made me wonder could she be a changeling. So I'm pleased to see GrandDaughter2 believing in her grandmother's lazy way of repairing hems and the like. Although she's only three; she has time to be radicalised.

* * * * * * * * *

We didn't have a bathroom when I was growing up - hard to believe these days when even children sometimes get their own en-suite - and had to make do with bathing in the scullery. We were quite posh: we had a bath that was plumbed out i.e. the water could get out, but we had to use a hose from the ascot heater on the far wall to fill it.

When I was in my early teens my mum applied for a grant to put in a bathroom. Sadly she only got to enjoy it for a few years before her fatal stroke, that happened in the bathroom incidentally. But I'm getting off the point. 

We lived with my grandparents and my gran by now was in her sixties. My mum went out to work so my gran paid one of her younger sisters to clean the bathroom. I remembered this when I was thinking about the possibility of having a cleaner. 

My first reaction, apart from, 'Oh I would love a cleaner,' is guilt, of course. Betraying my working-class roots. My great-grandfather was a fierce socialist - although he put aside his strong feelings when he realised the best billiard table was in the Conservative Club - while his daughter, my grand-mother, voted Tory. (Yuck wash out my mouth.) I guess she had aspirations. But the point I'm making is, if my gran could have a cleaner and my great-granddad allow personal desire to overcome scruples then I guess I can too.

Although I'm not in Husband's good books at the moment. See next post. Or previous post. Whichever way you're reading them.

* * * * * * * * *

I'm currently reading the latest from the No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, The Colours of all the Cattle.

In it Mma Ramotswe considers the question, 'what point is there to my life?' Naturally it made me think along similar lines. What's the point of my life?

I suppose the basic point of life is to procreate, to ensure survival of the species. I've done well at that but that is looking at the very simplest most basic level. Beyond that there are all sorts of possibilities.

But how many of us accomplish our point in life? Does there have to be a point? And for it to count does that point have to be beneficial to others? 

I think I'm going to have to think about this a bit more and write another post later before I depress myself thoroughly by coming to the conclusion I have no point. 

* * * * * * * * * 
A beautiful sunny late afternoon on the beach.