Today. Pouring vodka over lavender buds shucked yesterday. De-fleaing the cat. Trying to make decisions. Reading about Martha Stewart in The GentleWoman.
Getting Finn’s clothes ready for a party tonight and a non-uniform day on Thursday. Dis-mantling his weekend den and preparing to insist that he sleep in his bed tonight. Making Christmas lists. Eating chocolate bran flakes and leftover mushroom and spring onion rice. Drinking decaffeinated tea and mourning the loss of tea’s gentle buzz. Searching the house for a piece of chalk.
Folding towels. Pottering about. Feeling irritated by a new picture hung way too high. Enjoying solitude. Stretching with a tennis ball under my neck. Planting primulas in the back garden. Roasting chicken. Removing clingy cat from my person at every opportunity. Adding The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mum to my Netflix list, listening to Vintage Trouble. Chuckling to myself by way of madness.
Picking up a bath bought for a song on Ebay. Cheering with joy because my Roberts radio is working again. Worrying about yet more change. Brushing decking so I don’t kill myself when hanging out washing. Adding a couple of rows to Doctor Who length grey nubby scarf. Running on the spot like a person crazed and hoping no-one can see me. Waving at the vicar, a man outraged because I will not tolerate his parishioners parking hither and thither. Feeling non-plussed by his un-Godly refusal to acknowledge me. Worrying about ethics of feeling annoyed with person of the cloth.
Nibbling on spicy broad beans. And Wasabi peas. Frying onions on the turn, to freeze. Decanting fabric conditioner and homemade linen water. Changing bathroom soap. Talking non-stop on the phone. Getting sick of the sound of my own voice. Planning a novel I might just never write. Channelling Bridget bloody Jones. Wearing violet on my wrists.
Tomorrow? More of the lovely same…