I stayed in bed late this morning, still being in holiday mood. I was contemplating a leisurely bath when the phone rang. The Sage called upstairs that it was for me. The upstairs phone is several decades old (really, it has a dial) and quite crackly, so I dusted a dressing-gown and went downstairs. Then I had breakfast. It seemed a bit late for a bath, so I dressed, pottered a bit and eventually roamed back upstairs to wash my hair.
I got myself all ready to do some work, thought ‘stuff that’, prepared for a lazy day … and then something made me get out my diary. A meeting in the village at 10.30, which I’d said I go to and take notes for. Unfortunately, it was already 10.45.
Towel still round wet hair, I rang to apologise and said I’d be another 15 minutes. I don’t know how, but I’d dried my hair, put in my contact lens, applied make-up and printed out the notes from the last meeting within 5 minutes. The Sage had kindly put my handbag in a pannier and attached it to the bike, so I was all set to shoot off down the drive.
The meeting was to plan the Village Festival in July. Diana had asked, at the last PCC meeting, if someone other than her could take notes, as she’s done it for several years. I said I would – seemed to be quite a reasonable sort of job. Sue introduced me as the new organiser of the church’s contribution to the festival. “Er?” I said – “well, co-ordinator” she amended. Clever. A nice shuffle of a job. I was too lost in admiration to protest, so I seem to have found a new role – which, for a start, involves me in getting together a group of people to decide what the church is actually doing. Oh well. I don’t do all that much in the village at present, it’s fair enough and I like all the people on the committee, one of whom did me a favour last week with kind heart and good will.
Another lovely day, but there has been a change in the weather. As I pedalled into Yagnub, an easterly wind blew in my face and I could feel the mist rolling in, and this in the early afternoon. I had put a big silk scarf on, which I’d started by tossing flamboyantly over my left shoulder, but it made me feel too much like Isadora Duncan and unnerved me, so I wrapped it a couple of times more round my neck and tucked it in. When I was ready to leave, I put it over my head and then round my neck and peered at my reflection in the shop door. “Does it look just too odd?” I asked Al. “No, it’s fine” he said insincerely. “A bit of a refugee from a bandage factory, but in a good way.” “I’d been aiming for Jemima Khan, but I think it’s more Lawrence of Arabia” I said dismally.
I left it in place. I didn’t look behind me, so I don’t care if people laughed and pointed.
Tomorrow, I’m going to the Denton Panto!!(!)