You can’t have him, he’s mine

“Oh, sorry,” said the Sage. “I just poured you a glass of wine.” “Line ’em up!” I said cheerfully, having poured my own ten minutes ago. “I don’t suppose,” I added hopefully “that you would scrub the potatoes? Mwah mwah?” “Done them already,” he replied in a completely unsmug tone. He left the room. He came back in and kissed me. “I saw them languishing in the sink, so I thought they were probably for this evening.”

He’s just come in again. “Shall I move your car for you?” I’d brought some plants home from the shop for Al and had parked near the vegetable garden and then forgotten to move the car back out of the way. I’m a bit torn, you know. After thinking oh bugger the sodding car I’m selling it after all it’s cost me and I don’t need one so big, I keep finding that I do.

Anyway, it was the Street Market today. For those of you who do not know my little town, there are three of these in the year; one in December for festive stuff, an Antiques Fair in the summer and, in mid-May, a Gardeners’ Market. One of the streets is closed off and stalls line it on both sides. If the weather isn’t awful, it’s always a jolly occasion and people love it – the town is full. Because of church, I didn’t get there until about 1.30, well after the peak, but it still took me ten minutes to weave through all the crowds, wheeling my bike. A woman trying to come the other way, pushing a child in a wheelchair, grinned ruefully at me – I’d said “after you,” but she couldn’t move either.

Al had set up the shop, which is across the roundabout from the closed street, and had been very busy. He sold loads of plants and a surprising amount of fruit, vegetables and flowers. Some of the vegetable plants had been grown by us – no need to worry on his behalf about the profit margin, Dandelion; he did very well.

I biked home an hour later, enjoying the lightness of the bike. Usually, I cycle in easily and slog home. I had bought nothing except a cabbage and a lettuce, and Al had given me some broad bean tops because they won’t keep for Monday (cook and eat them as spinach; they’re delicious – if you like spinach and the scent of broad bean flowers, that is), whereas usually I have 15 – 25 lbs weight of shopping in my panniers. No, I don’t know how we use that much stuff every day either, except that sometimes it contains bottles.

I was tired at the end of last week, so I’ve deliberately relaxed this weekend. I feel so much better now. I could have pushed myself and done what I *needed* to do but, you know, nearly all of it could wait. I’ve just got to send a couple of emails to meet other people’s deadlines and the rest will still be there tomorrow. I think that it’ll be more important to feed my Sage a delicious meal and devote the rest of the evening to reading the paper, being amused by my son and cuddling my husband. And Tilly, of course.

7 comments on “You can’t have him, he’s mine

  1. Z

    Dave, darling, I believe it only too well. I wonder what else you found out about me at the same time?

    Gordie, it’s very easy for a husband to make me happy. Bring me wine, do something helpful without being asked, be entirely adorable. I, of course, reciprocate.


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