The Sage was in London today on business, so I set the alarm for 6 o’clock. That is, I thought I had, but it seems I made a mistake and set it for 7 instead, so he had to bustle about a bit to be ready to leave in half an hour. The bantams take most of the time available. I settled down in bed with a book and read for two solid hours. I got up, my pleasure increased by the frisson of guilt. On the sheep/lamb principle, I deep-conditioned my hair and strolled down to give a reproachful Tilly a belated breakfast.
Weeza and Zerlina came over later, then Dilly and Pugsley joined us for lunch. We spent the afternoon together, with Squiffany once nursery school was over. Dilly has to decide, before too long, whether to teach next (school) year or choose to be full-time mum. We debated the point with pros and cons – childcare and suchlike being one of the considerations.
I cooked a lovely piece of gammon for dinner, and served it with mixed vegetables (swede, carrot and celery), beetroot in yoghurt sauce and mashed potatoes. It went down well, which is more than can be said for the discovery that the Sage had gone around London – smart areas – in bright green gardening gloves. He was indignant at my protests. It’s no wonder that we rarely go out socially together. I expect everyone assumes he’s terribly posh, with his ancient tailor-made suit and peculiar accessories. Either that or they think he’s a complete down-and-out with a splendid charity shop down the corner.
It was good to spend a two hours reading. I’ve been puzzled, after a lifetime of obsessive reading, to have almost stopped over the past couple of years. That is, I’ll read maybe three or four books in a month rather than in a week, and if one doesn’t grab me in the first hundred pages I’ll probably abandon it. But I’ve read two books already this week and have started a third. I’m trying not to analyse it. I want to see where my fancy takes me.