I was rabbiting on, which isn’t unusual, at a party. I like to give good value at a social occasion; I think it is only polite, when a host has gone to trouble and been kind enough to invite me, to not let conversation flag. Although listening and responding to others’ bon mots is important too. Goodness, I hope I don’t monopolise the conversation *moment of agonised introspection* because, after all, I am doing that here rather. Maybe it’s time I reoffered that guest spot to my chum Ab.
Anyway, the friend to whom I rabbited said, in admiring sort of way “I should think you don’t suffer fools gladly.” I was mortified. He did mean it as a compliment, from the way he said it, but I was upset to think that a. I’d looked like a smartarse and b. like an intolerant one to boot. “No, no,” I said, ” I love fools, I feel warmly drawn to them.” And it’s true, not least because I’m one of them myself and I really hope that people will be tolerant of me too.
I think, on an entirely different subject (lucky this isn’t one of those organised sort of blogs, with categories) that I am starting to feel reinthused about the vegetables. This morning, I’ve picked and taken to the shop, a whole box of spinach and am now proudly imagining the pleasure it is giving to Al’s happy customers. ‘Ooh, your own spinach, picked this morning, how lovely’. It is last years (spinach beet, not true spinach which goes to seed in no time and has to be continually re-sown, which does not suit my style of gardening at all) and, having overwintered, will, in a few weeks, go to seed. By that time the new season’s crop should be ready.
I feel all keen and nurturing and will go and work in the garden. Have a good weekend.