I’m trying to think of something to write that doesn’t involve droning on about what I did today. Endlessly fascinating, my life is of course, but really only to myself.
I should put it on record that the Sage has bought me flowers two weeks in a row, if two is enough to make a row. Mind you, he’s careful to remove any hint of romanticism or anything like that. Dora admired the tulips on Saturday. I said that the Sage had brought them home. “Well, I was buying some for Muriel, so I thought I’d better.” Today, he brought a bunch of daffodils. “Ma’s birthday, I put some flowers on her grave and these were left over.”
I know my place. And I’m appreciative indeed, he doesn’t normally buy me flowers or anything else. Not that he’s uncaring or ungenerous, just – well, if I collected any sort of antique he’d buy me things all the time, but one collector in the family is a lot more than enough.
I’m afraid that the nasty cough is spreading through the household next door. It started with Pugsley, who was poorly enough to miss two days of school last week and was still at home today. Al was ill on Saturday, but is soldiering on with work. Yesterday, Hay started to cough and coughing makes him sick so things are rather difficult. Today, it was Dilly’s turn. She says that Squiffany is complaining that no one is taking much notice of her. I rather doubted that Squiffany is receiving much sympathy – I said that surely it’s her job to look after anyone, anyway. The Sage and I are still fine and we’re being careful not to let a day pass without an alcoholic drink, that’s the mistake that so often lets a bug in.
I’ve received an email asking me if I’ll help judge the Denton Show in September. Terribly flattered as always, I’ve agreed. I must get dates in my diary, I’m booking holidays and so on and haven’t got all the time blanked off. Asking for trouble.
Weeza is coming over tomorrow, hoorah! I’ll keep her and the children away from next door, mind you.