My door is now officially closed*.
No longer will I roam the streets of Cardiff picking up items of filthy disgusting flotsam in a fatuous attempt to create a postmodernistic masterpiece in the privacy of my own home.
Apart from the postcards and the large pink star and the Ryvita and the picture of Robbie Fowler (my hero!) and the New Zealand flag and the funny spider photo and the word 'cracker' (which was cut by Flatmate from a packet of crispbread and added in my absence), every object was plucked from pavement obscurity and placed into the dazzling display you see before you. I can only apologise for the fact that my camera does not do close-ups very well (nor indeed normal photography) and urge you to take my word for it: it is magnificent. And not at all a testament to my insanity as BK insinuates.
It was magnificent. For tomorrow, it comes down.
(If you behave, I may well post a complete inventory at a later date.)
For now, I will say only that there are no less than four plectrums on display: Welsh guitarists are a careless bunch.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Flatmate came out with a couple of corkers at the weekend.
Friday night, in general conversation with your humble Weasel, he referred to a time "when I was single".
Sunday evening, he told me sadly "We're going to have to split up soon."
So it seems I have been 'going out with' Flatmate all along and I didn't even realise!
* Apart from the red bead and the passport photo of a woman with beetling brows which were found on the way home from work today.P.S. He's found a house