I’ve done as much as I can for today, the rest is last-minute stuff. Or last morning, at any rate. I’m afraid I’ve prepared too much food, but that’s usual. I’ve remembered to pack my chequebook and some cash for Pembrokeshire – may not need them, but Joseph the caravan site manager doesn’t do internet anything and has no intention of starting. I have no idea how this goes down with younger caravan owners, but things won’t change this side of J’s retirement.
The weather forecast over there is iffy, but that’s normal. There’s a lot of rain, but it rarely lasts all day. Over here on the dry side of the country, it’s easy to forget that arid, parched land is not to be found everywhere else. Wince, my gardener, told me yesterday that his partner’s brother was responsible for one of the fires the other day, to his embarrassment. He was harvesting and had the cutter higher than usual, but a flint got caught in the blade and the spark set fire to the straw. In minutes, the field was ablaze. Wiser not to have been harvesting in the middle of the day, but he thought he’d taken precautions. It’s shockingly easy to start a fire, that gets out of hand in moments.
I called on my friend Lilian yesterday. She’s 94 now and is frailer than she was a few months ago. Her elder sister died a year and a half ago and Lilian misses her badly. They’d lived together for about 30 years, both having been widowed quite young. I can see that being Wink and me, if we ever move from here – not for 30 years, of course, we’re both too old for that. And we have no plans to move anyway, not for a long time yet. We like it here. It’s been a bit of an eye-opener for her, to find how much more work it is, compared to her town garden and way of life, but it’s more interesting. I’m not sociable any more, not like she is (notwithstanding the blog party, which is an exception) so being engaged with home things matters to me. I’d be awfully bored if I were not obliged to be busy. Not that it’s likely to be boring this weekend – anything but.