We are using the long weekend to tidy up - and I got the job of finding a winter home for our cheap electric fan, a wobbly, stiff, fragile insectoid thing that was irritating to put together and even if taken apart would still be awkward to store.
I was delighted to find that there is room on the built-ins in our bedroom. The cross-shaped feet wrap neatly around the chimney dent. It is within an inch of the ceiling. The span of the feet is just short of the depth of the space its in.
At such times of glorious unearned neatness, when things are fitting real nice and kentucky*, I am wont to launch into 'Surely the Lord has regarded the estate of his handmaiden...' It seems fitting somehow.
*Douglas Adams reference.
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