We've been in Valletta today doing the history thing. The war museum is very good actually, with a well-written narrative on the 20th century history of Malta and particular focus on the last war. It was very moving in fact, particularly a video of street scenes taken by a gunner, whose name was Stan Fraser I think (should have written it down)which showed the devastation caused by the bombing and the fortitude of the Maltese more eloquently than any words. The George Cross given to all the islanders in 1942 is on display there.
We walked round the Grand Harbour - the Sage has a painting of a storm scene in Valletta Harbour, painted by Beechey in 1865 or thereabouts and he wanted me to identify where it was painted. Not very easy, especially as I haven't looked at the painting for several years. It's too large to hang in any of our rooms, used to be on the stairs but when it was taken down for some reason we couldn't hang it again without help. It's been in the room I never go in ever since. I'd like to go in there, but the Sage has filled it. It's unusable. It was last used more than five years ago.
Anyway, I found the most likely place and took photos, but it could be the harbour the other side of Valletta. I'll have a look there on Saturday.
Tomorrow, we're planning to head south and see if we can find the restaurant recommended by Sarah.
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The Day Job
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Delightful people with a little too much time on their hands
Copyright
Oh, what's the problem? This is hardly Great Literature. I'd appreciate anything taken from here being acknowledged, and I might change my mind if I'm suddenly proclaimed as the Literary Queen of the Blogosphere - but I probably wouldn't. Do what you like, just as long as it doesn't extend to defamation of anyone, even me.
Actually, you want to pass off what I say as your own, I might even be flattered. Let's face it, who cares anyway?
16 comments:
'the room I never go in' sounded quite sinister, until I read your (quite understandable) explanation.
Oddly, I was talking to the Sge about collecting useful items (useful in the sense that they may come in handy one day) as we examined the latest items he's recovered from a skip. He tells me he goes through everything regularly, and if it hasn't been used in 7 years then it's disposed of.
I suspect you're now picking yourself up off the floor.
Laughing my head off,yes indeed. Seven years? Oh, bless him. There is stuff in his workshop that I know has been there for seven times seven.* At least.
*which sounds very Biblical, now I think about it.
Mind you, I'm wearing clothes that hung in the wardrobe for over a decade, waiting until the right moment. The only difference is, I admit it.
Clothes don't count in this debate. You buy good clothes, therefore they are always ready for action, whatever the trend. Your problem has been not sorting out the action. You've got diary issues, not hoarder issues.
When we moved here, we moved boxes from the attic in the flat, straight into the attic here. I have no intention of ever going up there to sort it out.
Boy will inherit it all.
If I were to die, the house would rapidly become one of those places you read about where the resident spends years hoarding stuff until he's completely hemmed in by clutter. It's impossible to stop him. I can force him to clear an area but just find that he has squirrelled everything away somewhere else, including the rubbish. It is one thing about him that I genuinely would change if I could. He looks concerned when I talk to him about it, but does nothing.
The items he's collected from the skip look really usefull. I looked at them with great interest. I'm sure I could find a use for them. One day.
Bon appetit! (Tho' by this time I ought to wish you bonne digestion and why digestion should be feminine I can't imagine)
Thank you, Christopher. And bon voyage to you - or whatever the past tense of that is.
I'm fine with him gathering stuff out of skips. They tend not to come in the house. It's the random mix of junk, rubbish and antiques that clutter the house to a degree that makes it hard to walk about freely and which our children will be unable to sort out that get me. I suspect a load of quite valuable things will simply be thrown away.
I'm starting to make a list of which of my antique books are of value (historically if not monetarily) in the hope they won't go in the bin when I'm dead. Perhaps you could make that a project for the Sage this winter.
I've been trying to do a similar thing for many years, Dave. He agrees at once, but never even starts.
Ah, but he's got a computer now. Draw up a nice database for him, with columns for name, author, date, estimated value etc, and I'm sure he'll enjoy sitting by the fire and filling it in.
Tell The Sage to sign up to LibraryThing and it will be easy to catalogue his books. Some one else is sure to have a copy.
It is a kind of Ravelry but instead of yarn and knitting patterns it is books :)
Trouble for us is we have too many books for the free membership. I think I will set another account for DH with my knitting books listed in Ravelry.
Interesting to hear about Malta, haven't been there yet.
PixieMum
LibraryThing would be no use - I started using it, but the 200 free books limit didn't even cover one bookcase.
No, hang on, books are my thing, not the Sage's. He, I'm afraid, is both a collector and a hoarder.
Let's say he bought an item on eBay. He would unpack it and put it on a table to gather dust. He would scatter the packing material all around and carefully keep the useful box, probably in the middle of the dining table. After a couple of weeks, I'd politely mention it. So then he'd put all those items in the room I never go in, even though two of them are rubbish and one should have been put in the bin from the start.
OK, draw up a nice database for him, with columns for: age, capacity (in matches), value, etc...
I've already done that for the china, several years ago. That's as far as it's got. In any case, that's neatly kept because of its fragility. As for everything else, itemising stuff won't clear the clutter. And he doesn't like anyone else to move his stuff, which I understand.
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