I had a phone call from Al this morning, just before 8 o’clock, asking if I could go and open the shop for him as he wasn’t feeling too good. I had offered last night, as both he and Dilly were under the weather then, but I sort of expected an earlier call and was settling down to eat breakfast. As it was, I dried my hair, poked various items of make-up in the general direction of my face, and was out of the house within ten minutes, taking my slice of dry toast with me.
An hour later, the shop was open, produce on the shelves and I was on my way to Norwich. I chatted to various people, drank black coffee, ignored a mince pie, asked the speaker about his credentials (fine ones, but I had to be sure of getting them right), introduced him, listened to a marvellous lecture about La Traviata, thanked him, drank two glasses of mulled wine, chatted to more people, ‘interviewed’ someone interested in coming on the committee, drove home, finished a letter, printed and signed it, ate a small piece of feta cheese and drove to the high school, having been in the house for five minutes.
I chanced upon the person to whom the letter was addressed, so rescued it from the secretary’s office and delivered it in person, then spent the next 50 minutes with the Year 9 music lesson.
I came home and looked at emails. I even opened and read a few of them. Al rang and asked if I could go back to the shop to take over from Tim. He still feels queasy and dizzy, but better than he did. The children are fine.
I have eaten two rice cakes and am drinking tea. I feel empty but not hungry. I shall spend two more hours in the shop, come home, drink more tea, prepare and eat dinner and then start work.
I know you’re all busier than I am, doing much more vital things. I merely fluff around on the surface. I’m not at all sure if I think we’re marvellous, or just plain daft.