Keep on Trucking

It's well and truly over now. I made almost enough to cover the gallery hire. Art materials, framing and so on are another matter. Oh well. Including prints, but not cards, I sold 14 works which seemed to amaze the gallery. Seems they don't usually sell much there, but again, the work was not expensive. I am so relieved it is finished, but glad to have met such nice people who came to have a look around and buy things. True to form, Christophe and Victorine arrived and helped me take it all home. We then subsided with tea, followed by wine, and I suggested going for dinner to Toulouse Lautrec (where else?). Just then Nicos arrived, so we staggered off only to discover that there were no tables. Fortunately Nolan managed to find us a table upstairs so we were able to order from the bar menu. Barrelhouse Blues were on. As Nicos said it was amazing that a singer with no voice was so compelling that in no time we were all singing along and having a fantastic evening. There was great enthusiasm from the mainly young crowd, and it was someone's birthday, which made it even better. Nicos had to leave early for Spain the following morning, so after seeing him off I vegged out a bit until the arrival of Madeleine with other relatives. After a coffee we went to the War Museum. I was so tired that after a brief perusal of the Home Front shop and cafe (great cakes), I sat about while the others explored the place. My lodger had not texted so I texted her, but she had apparently booked herself into a hostel for another night, strangely. When she appeared last night she asked where the yellow trolley was, and when I told her about the damage she categorically denied it, and tried to blame my sister for it. Extraordinary. I caught her out by showing her the butterfly badge (which I had removed with difficulty with a sharp knife,) and asking if she recognised it. She did, but then said it could not have been stuck to the trolley, because there was paper on the back, and no corresponding mark among the other stains she had made on the trolley. I placed it over the matching stain, and she then said she had not realised the trolley was valuable and I should have put a cover on the top. Dear me. She will have to go, and the sooner the better. I don't know whether it is a personality flaw, or a cultural difference, this refusal to accept any responsibility or blame for anything. Anyone else would just apologise and move on. On the brighter side I resumed my meetings with David, and had home made toast and jam for breakfast at Mamuska. Today I shall meet Romy and another friend of hers for an early lunch, and I shall take along the drawings and prints she has purchased.