It was the weather. It was quite peculiar. A frost, and then it sort of rained in the morning – but it was more of a wet mistiness without the actual fog. Water hung in the air, but puddles showed no tremor of raindrops.
The shop was quite busy all the same and Eileen and I took most of the morning to do all the extra work, as well as serving customers. The housekeeper of a local Lady came in with a cheque to pay the account. She said that her (the Lady’s) signature is becoming more shaky and this might be the last time that she signs the cheque herself and her husband might have to do it in future. I sympathised – it’s such a sad thing to watch, the gradual failing in someone’s abilities. Harder still, of course, to endure oneself. “She has gone from a plate with a knife and fork to a bowl with a spoon,” she said. “The next step will be to feed her, and that is something none of us wants to have to accept.” She is a lovely woman, the housekeeper, and must be such a support.
This afternoon, I’d planned to ascend a ladder and pick Bramley apples. It had stopped not-raining, but drops hung from all the leaves and branches and I have left it to another day. I was going to make a couple more batches of quince jelly, having dripped the juice in a jellybag overnight, but Dilly phoned to ask if I could sit with the children for a while as she wanted to go to Yagnub and Pugsley had just gone to sleep. Squiffany and I played and chatted, and when Dilly came back we asked if we could carry on playing in my house.
So, no work and lots of play. This evening I had a meeting, to which I was driving, so no alcohol either. When I came home, I had a sedate cup of rose tea. Maybe I should go to bed, so that I will not succumb to the single malt out of mild boredom.
If I haven’t visited you recently or commented much, or replied to emails or written actual letters (all these things I’m guilty of with some of you) I really am sorry. I am trying to catch up with everything, but it may take a week or two yet.