Sunday, June 5, 2016
The Doris Shorts
Well, the temperature has improved. This morning it's 56˚ (F), although apparently the clouds are going to hang around.
I got a lot of things done yesterday, but French wasn't one of them. I skipped my class. I had such a draining week that I couldn't bring myself to give up four hours of my morning, which was a first for me -- although I've talked several times about playing hooky I never did it before yesterday. Instead I stayed on the couch and read The New Yorker.
I did two loads of laundry. I ran some errands -- bought a new baking sheet for Dave, along with some tea towels so he'll stop using the kitchen hand towels to wipe up food spills (a source of frequent conflict around here). I took the dog for a long walk on the Heath, and I deliberately did not take my camera. For once I wanted to just experience our outing, free of pixels.
I also talked to the tailor inside my local dry cleaning shop about repairing my Doris shorts. When I visited West Africa in 1994, I bought this great fabric (above) covered with tiny footprints. In Kumasi, Ghana, I paid a woman who looked after our hostel -- a seamstress named Doris -- to make them into shorts. She took some measurements and my fabric, and a day or two later produced a pair of rudimentary, baggy shorts with an elastic waist. They look like underwear, honestly, but I love them. They're so comfortable.
I wear them all the time to lounge around the house, so I can't complain about their durability. (I also frequently wear them in the garden or to take out the trash, and I'm sure all the neighbors think I'm walking around in my boxers.) But the 22-year-old elastic has finally died on my Doris shorts. I need to get it replaced, so I'll take them to the tailor on Monday.
Today, clouds notwithstanding, I hope to get out and about in London for some photography!
(Top photo: A piece of old newspaper, West Hampstead.)