Grey skies today, the colour of plumbers’ overalls. My car’s gone in for an MOT (don’t know whether it will pass or be expensive) our kitchen is a cold hole of plaster and pipes, and Sammy’s currently dealing with the Damp Man.
I should call him the Damp Surveyor really; it’s more accurate. And it would stop people joking that we need to make sure we put a towel under him. But with today’s wet weather, perhaps it’s oddly fitting. His view on our damp problem could be critical to how long it takes for us to feel like we’ve got our house back.
“It’s like being back at the Premier Inn,” said Sammy, the first night we were back there. I got it. It was a bit heart-stopping but I understood what she meant. I did my best to stay upbeat.
It can be hard to stay upbeat. It’s important though because music is so boring on just the downbeats. Add a little rhythm in between those downs, and the ups breathe life into what would otherwise be no more than counting. But weirdly, you also need those downbeats to provide the structure for that upbeat rhythm. Ticking away at the back of every funky beat is a solid lattice of counts, or a click track pulsing at a certain speed.
What I mean is there would be no music at all if it weren’t for the downbeats. And ups are only possible because of the unshakeable framework built by the downs.
Rain is pouring down the window now, and bouncing from the roofs of parked cars. I’ve put the lights on so I can see my screen. I wonder how the damp surveyor is getting on…
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