Our friend was persuaded to stay an extra day and night, so we had a delightful day yesterday, mostly spent lunching and chatting, with a little light shopping thrown in.
In the evening, I had to go out briefly (or so I thought) to a small social gathering, so I prepared dinner up until the last half hour’s cooking of the pie, while friend D went to lay the table. I glanced into the dining room. She had put pudding spoons and forks on the table. Ah. That had not occurred to me. Regular puds are not a feature in our family life, but I didn’t want to disappoint. I decided to whip up a batch of chocolate brownies that could be served warm with cream. I knew there was a bar of good plain chocolate in the cupboard.
When, in mixing terms, I was past the point of no return, I noticed there were no eggs. Asked the Sage for eggs. He explained that, when he’d said that the hens were off lay, he had meant entirely off lay.
Rang Dilly next door. Luckily, she had three and I only needed two, so that was all right. Except that the do I went to was rather more generous in the food and wine department than I had expected, and I came home late and rather full. They were not troubled by this and used it as an opportunity to have second helpings.
Later, I had an email to tell me that small-but-meaningful-to-the-one-involved problems were getting more problematical and the one involved was upset. I had not, as I’d been busy, posted my letter to her, so I amended it to sound even more sympathetic – but unfortunately not, as far as she was concerned, more helpful – and worried for several sleepless nighttime hours.
Today, I have been listening to Jimi Hendrix in a fruitless attempt to regain a feeling of lost youth and, now that D has left, have time to sit and glower bad-temperedly. I should go and throw myself into some useful and destructive autumnal garden work, but maybe I will think beautiful thoughts instead.