It has struck me (notwithstanding that I said a few days ago that I kept crying – resilient woman that I am) that I feel remarkably well at present. All cheerful and energetic. Is it this startlingly healthy diet that I eat? Is it that I am biking keenly, as long as there is no undulation in the road, for miles and a bit? Maybe it is simply that I’ve reached the high point of my life, and it will be downhill all the way from now on – and I don’t mean in a ‘whoopee’ cycling sort of way.
I will find out in due course.
Night are a bit difficult, however. I go to sleep and wake, needing to turn over, but I find that the joints have locked and it is agony. This happens about every hour. It’s boring. Also, I realise that the Sage has the habit of leaving a hand on or under a hip (either hip, they both fucking hurt), at times when it is really not conducive to marital happiness to say ‘ow’. I need to explain this politely at a neutral sort of time, when passion will not be killed. I haven’t just realised this, but it is getting harder not to say ‘ow’ instead of ‘wow’.
Otherwise, things are exceptionally good. I oversaw the autumnclean (very like a springclean) at the church and people kept coming to ask, meekly, what to do next, and I told them. I noted Useful Information in my big black book to do things about. I remembered things that need to be planned for.
The day had started slightly oddly, as I had woken early and not got up, for why would I? At 8.15, I heard a vehicle and saw, through the window, a flashing amber light. I creaked lightly from the bed to peer outside and found, at little lower than window level (Tudor house, low ceilings), a JCB with friend Alan in the cab. I do not wear nightclothes. I dropped to the floor and crawled out of the room…I don’t know if he had seen me, for he is too polite to have said.
Anyway, the laurel hedge is now a pile of upended bushes, which will be moved to the bonfire in the next few days. I’m a bit perturbed that the Sage did not have Alan move them, but see his point, that it would have churned up the gravel and the grass to have the JCB go back and forth. They are big chunks of laurel, though.
Tomorrow is my Holier than Thou (unless thou art Dave, which thou art not as he is away) Sunday, as I will be up early and in church by 7.30, and again by 10. In between, I will cycle in to town for the paper. Unless it is raining. I may be a saint, but I’m not a martyr.