Sunday. It’s not always the best day of my week, actually, but I’ve recovered now, due in part to the unexpectedly nice bottle of wine I bought yesterday, which has cheered me considerably and which I’ll buy more of while the shop has still got it.
It started at 6.40, when I woke up and, much as I wanted to, found myself unable to doze before the alarm went off at 6.59.
At 7.30 I was scruffling down the drive on the way to church. By 8, I had put out the communion wine and wafers, fitted up the microphones, put out the brass candlesticks, cross, ewer and tray, found the pages in the Bible for the readings, unlocked the back door (fire exit), greeted a very small congregation and was ready for the service to start.
An hour later, I was clearing away again, ready for C, whose baby was being christened today and who was bringing sausage rolls and sandwiches and a gorgeous cake for the party. I put on the urn, got out coffee, tea (and associated cafétières and teapot) milk, sugar and biscuits, music stands, service sheets, practised the organ, practised the clarinet, made coffee and drank two cups and ate a biscuit (breakfast).
At 10.45 I realised we needed more milk. I walked home, changed my shoes, took a pint of milk from the fridge, drove to church (200 yards), hurried in, put milk in kitchen, went to organ, played a voluntary (introductory tune).
At 11.05 I played the first hymn.
At 11.15 I played the second hymn on the clarinet. Not long after, I played the third hymn.
At 11.30, I realised there was no one to read the second lesson. I read the second lesson. Soon after, I played the fourth hymn.
At 11.45, I belted out after the Rector to make coffee. I, with another, made and served 25ish cups of tea and coffee, washed up, talked in practical fashion about church stuff.
At 12.30, I must have been flagging slightly. Dave, the Fellow ChurchWarden, asked if I was feeling okay. “Don’t I look okay?” “You walk as if you ache a bit.” I denied it. The Rector came in and asked if I was feeling okay. I became anxious. “It’s just that I’m used to evaluating stock” said Dave. “You mean, if I were a fat cow, you wouldn’t put in a bid,” I said. I mentioned that I was wearing flat shoes instead of heels. “That must be it,” he said, reassuringly.
At 1 o’clock, I went home, opened the greenhouse, switched off the propagator and told the Sage that a Gentleman Friend had invited me out for lunch.
At 3 o’clock, I went home (nice lunch, thanks) and got changed and helped the Sage with carpentry work.
At 6.30, I asked him if he would prefer, for dinner, something done with the rest of last night’s chicken, or steak. There was a long pause, while he looked for the catch. “Steak sounds nice,” he said, cautiously.
I wasn’t very hungry, myself, but I wasn’t surprised at the choice. I scrubbed potatoes, washed HOME GROWN SPINACH (YAY – new growth from the overwintered stuff), peeled sprouts and washed tomatoes. I opened the aforementioned wine, poured a glass and drank.
At 7.40, dinner was served. I cheerily decided I liked Clare B@lding, who has jollied up Crufts no end. I booed, however, when her choice of dog (called something like Big Willy) won. I had been rooting for the laid-back bloodhound.
9.00. I checked emails and found one that cheered me considerably and which I replied to enthusiastically, if monosyllabically. Well, briefly. I didn’t count the syllables.
There’s my day so far. Now I’ll read the paper.
I’m going to the dentist tomorrow. Boo.