I’ve been gloomy that the fallout from my last post on casual racism has caused a serious altercation with a friend that remains unresolved. Inspiration had deserted me. But now look! I finally have lights on my house! That’s a metaphor, I’d say, and it’s cheered me up no end being able to post this.
It’s taken more than four years and at least three absconding electricians but here they are. And the bonus is that I finally know a reliable electrician who did not resort to blaming failing Internet or a phone changeover for their failure to communicate with me.
Late for Diwali they are, but up in plenty of time to enjoy them for Christmas. And they’ll stay up permanently now, ready for any celebration. Tasteful, I think, they’re neither too blue and shiver-generating nor do they pulsate and hum enough to trigger someone’s migraine. I don’t think there’s much here to annoy our neighbours. At least, I hope not. There they are lighting the way as people round the bend and look up the hill, lighting the way of the weary traveller trekking back from the station after a long work day. I think they are just the job as we make our way into the bleak midwinter.
Someone on Twitter asked during the week why anyone would want to have lights on their house. I wonder why they wouldn’t.