Wrestled from the mouth of a tiger

Ducks - Alberner Hafen - Wien

It is proving to be much more difficult than I had anticipated to de-wax Sissi. Most of her stomach is covered with wax and it has sort of gone hard and lumpy and is clinging to her fur. I can get little bits of it but she has a short focus for this type of stuff and starts biting me as soon as I get going. Brushing does not work as it just pulls at the fur and makes her unhappy.

She does smell quite nice because the wax was perfumed.

I spent a couple of hours cleaning the wax off the floor and walls. This was extraordinarily difficult because of the spray pattern. There were thousands of little spots of wax, punctuated by streaks and blobs. The walls will never been the same and will need repainting. I keep some white paint in the basement for just such emergencies.

We have found one person – Parsifal – who likes Topfenstrudel. In fact he is very fond of it indeed. Perhaps I am missing something? I might give it another try (joke!).

I have noticed recently a resurgence in young people’s clothing that looks like it has been subjected to close attention by Al Qaeda and then washed in a cement mixer with gravel. I guess it is a resurgence of the fashion thing – I remember years ago you could buy jeans without knees – and they cost more than jeans with knees. It doesn’t make sense to me but anyone who never wears anything but black T-Shirts and jeans with knees has lost all credibility in terms of fashion commentary.

Anyway – I saw this girl with the sweater which looked like it had been used for target practice and then to clean a car engine. It reminded me of my very favourite humorous writer David Sedaris. My daughter Melissa introduced me to his books a couple of years ago when I was staying with her in Paris and I have devoured everything he has written.

His most recent book (2008) is ‘WHEN YOU ARE ENGULFED IN FLAMES’ and following is a short excerpt – about distressed clothing:

“The only expensive thing I actually wear is a navy blue cashmere sweater. It cost four hundred dollars and looks like it was wrestled from the mouth of a tiger. “What a shame” the dry cleaner said the first time I brought it in. The sweater had been folded into a loaf-sized bundle, and she stroked it, the way you might a freshly dead rabbit. “it’s so soft” she whispered.

I didn’t dare tell her that the damage was intentional. The lengthy run across the left shoulder, the dozens of holes in the arms and torso; each was specifically placed by the design team. Ordinarily I avoid things that have been distressed, but this sweater had been taken a step further and ruined. Having destroyed it, it is now indestructible, meaning I can wear it without worry, For half this price I could have bought an intact sweater, thrown it to a tiger and wrenched it back myself, but after a certain age, who has that kind of time”

Interestingly, in the first print run of the book the dry cleaner uses French (Well she is French) and says “Ma Pauvre” instead of “What a Shame”. The copy I have now is one I bought from Amazon a short time ago and it has been dumbed-down – and in the process loses meaning. But that’s what happens.