Clams and Winkles

Recently the quality of home cuisine has deteriorated due to the lack of a proper kitchen. True, the last month has seen a distinct rise in levels of Vitamin Plasterdust, fresh air from the unfinished windows, roughage from the brick dust, with essential minerals iron filings, rusty nail injection and copper wire offcuts.

But the pasta he served me a few nights ago was rubbery at best, like one of those partially vulcanized hockey pucks they sell at MacDänglers. I didn't even get "Value Scampi", the one with prawns, bijou morsellettes of real parts of fish, bearded clams, limpets, wee willie winkles and so forth. I miss Nanna's cooking. She does large stodge for northern growing people and I went back for thirds, not just seconds. Last night it was carrots. Where are my chips?

After school it was straight to the hardware store from whom we have bought so much and yet received so little (still waiting for the toilet, sink, and the little leg things that hold up the bath). Jof had decided on long thin stripey tiles to go all the way round the room at my head height to make it look groovy, but had only bought 8. The chap doing the tiling sent us back for the other 8 and some more tile glue. He's the only builder in at the moment and he's hurt his back so all he can do is tiling. If he runs out of glue he'll have to just sit there, and all builders say they never do that.

So we bought some long tiles and some tile glue and cheekily examined the floor tiles we want in the kitchen. Both of us favour the black marble ones with the spingly spangly bits in, just like the atrium of the Dubai Sheraton in 1980. Trouble is, at £65 per square yard, it'd be 2 grand to do the kitchen so we might not do that.
While I was trampolining he went to a strippers establishment to ask the price of doing a door. That's not what they called it in my day.