The Sage is in Wiltshire and I am at home. It’s is very quiet. Tilly is snoozing on the sofa and I – oh, it isn’t quiet at all, I’m listening to quite loud music. But there’s an emptiness that sound can’t fill.
There was a brief meeting this evening to make sure arrangements are all in place for the church supper on Saturday. It was here at half past seven and I reckoned it would be done in twenty minutes and I’d be eating supper by half past eight. We did sort out the practicalities quickly but no one was in a hurry to move and they didn’t go until nearly 9.30. I was very hungry and also somewhat embarrassed that I hadn’t made coffee and offered wine – I didn’t think anyone would want it and by the time it seemed appropriate it was also too late.
I’m so suggestible. Rog mentioned his favourite iPhone apps, which led me to go straight to download two of them. And then, because of the sight of a virtual pint of lager, I was drawn inevitably to a bottle of beer for myself. I planned to have a second with dinner, but by the time I came to eat and drink, the moment had passed and I had wine instead.
“I’ve left plenty of corn and water for the chickens” said the Sage as he was getting ready to leave. “They will go to roost by themselves, just do their bread in the morning.” They have half a loaf, soaked in warm water, in the mornings. “Wouldn’t they like a little something at lunchtime?” I asked. “Only if you’ve time. Otherwise, I’ve left a couple of bunches of grapes in the porch. You can give them one this teatime and one tomorrow. If you give them a call, they’ll follow you.”
He just likes being followed about by adoring females, of course.