I wrote a post. It was laboured. It seemed that I didn’t have much to say, so I didn’t inflict it on the blogosphere. This is a change from a few years ago, when I posted every day whether I had something to say or not.
I packed up all the china and Elizabeth, the lovely auctioneer, picked it up yesterday to take it to the saleroom. I have an easy few days now. I’ve got to sort out all the commission bids, which are in a notebook but will mostly be put in the auctioneer’s book. Some are either/or bids, I’ll take care of them myself. What I mean is, they might say they want to spend £*so much* so please stop bidding when they’ve reached their limit. Or, I want to buy a sparrowbeak jug but I’ve put in bids for several, so stop once I’ve bought one. That happened last year with a little leaf-shaped dish, known as a pickle dish. I had five in the sale and they all went well. Someone wanted one and didn’t succeed until the last of the five.
I’m very focussed on the auction at present, so apologise for banging on about it rather a lot. Less than a week to go and then I’ll move on to … whatever. I don’t know what else there is to think about. I hope we might see some of the family over half term, but it may be illegalised, in which case we won’t. With little faith in the government, we still don’t intend to be part of the problem.
I woke at 6.30 this morning, having missed the milkman – I sometimes hear him at about half past three – and found an email to say I’d received a refund for part of my order. Since we have orange juice and croissants delivered on a Friday and look forward to it, I was ready to be sunk into gloom. But it was all right. The half pound of butter wasn’t available today, for some reason. I do have a couple of emergency croissants stashed in the freezer as it happens, because I put them in there when Tim was away last month, not having cancelled. So we had our croissants and homemade raspberry jam, with orange juice and felt we’d had a weekly treat after all.
When it was raining the other day, I kept the chickens in and found that one of the big black hens laid an egg. Tim, being more observant than I am, discovered where that hen was laying yesterday, near the house. He picked up the egg, but she laid there again today and I left it. If that egg vanishes, the hedgehog is pinching it but, if not, I’ll take one of the two every day. What does puzzle me is that the young pullets don’t seem to be laying. They should be by now. They might get shut up until they do – except I’m too soft-hearted. I just keep buying eggs and acknowledge that I have expensive chickens.