I had another rubbish problem this week. Monday is collection day and after checking it’s empty, I pull the huge black wheelie bin back up to the theatre to put away. But this week when I lifted the lid to check it was empty, I was surprised to see it wasn’t so I left it there assuming they’d be along later.

They weren’t and when I rang them was informed it had in fact been emptied so the only explanation was someone had put their rubbish in our bin. I was tempted to heave out the bags and see if there was any incriminating evidence but as it was down in the bottom of the bin, that would mean me climbing right inside and I draw the line at compacting rubbish (see earlier post). If it happens again I may well have to draw a new line.

Anyway I blame my mother; my dear old dad used to call her Mrs Bustle Arse because no matter what, if a job needed doing she got right on and did it ignoring anyone who said it can’t be done. I think that indomitable spirit is a dominant gene in her daughters because both my sister and I have the same attitude which is just as well because this week I was short of extra help to dec the theatre halls and with the Lyme Regis Museum Christmas party looming, I had to get a move on.

Fortunately we have a saw backstage so I soon set-to sawing off the bottom slice from the Christmas tree. Did I say saw? I’m not sure when it was used last but I’d have been better off using a nail file it was so blunt. Anyway I eventually sawed the end off before putting it in a red beach bucket I found backstage, wedging it with a few stones from the beach. Lights draped, tinsel hung, baubles dangled.

I found some huge reticulated-python-lengthed green garlands high up on a shelf stage left that I swaged and tailed between the pillars so eventually the auditorium looked very jolly.

For the finishing touch I played my Phil Spector’s Christmas album whilst the museum volunteers enjoyed their delicious lunch the next day, completely oblivious to my anxious endeavours the day before.

This week was also the last opportunity to see the Supermoon for a while, 2034 in fact. It really was a super moon and what it also meant was a super low tide and by mid morning the following day the sea had been sucked away leaving the monolithic Jurassic slabs that have lain submerged on the shore line for millennia, high and dry. Now their ancient sea smooth surfaces exposed themselves and drew breath from the bright sharp winter sun before the tide turned submerging them once more into their subterranean world.

To complement this astrological aqua anomaly was Storm Caroline who swept across the country in great gusts and combined with the high tide from the Supermoon, the sea was being whipped into a frenzy of fizzing frothing waves that sprayed our windows and doors in a tacky salty mist, the sound of the sea roaring into shore and smashing into the walls was quite deafening and as ever the Cobb stood resolutely as she was buffeted and bashed by the crashing waves.

But what about the snow, I hear you ask? We did have a few watery flakes but it didn’t last. The temperature is dropping again next week so maybe we’ll yet see a white Christmas down on the coast. It also means I won’t need to climb into the wheelie bin, if the sneaky rubbish dumper strikes again I’ll just follow their footsteps in the snow.

The Supermoon, Storm Caroline and a blunt saw stage left.
Tagged on:             

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *