Well, things seem to be working out splendidly. I’ve given a dozen fresh eggs to Roses, for her to take to her cousins, and that leaves me with only about three dozen to gaze at helplessly. I’m going to make, and freeze, shedloads of cake tomorrow. But mentioning the subject has led to a plan for Tim and me to meet next week, and we haven’t seen each other for at least two years, so that is marvellous.
Young Stevo called round this afternoon with a present for me – okay, it was from Poundland as he cheerily acknowledged, but it was a bolt for my shed door, which I needed. After a bit of trouble finding the right drill bit, we put it on – and he wouldn’t charge me for his time. We’d had a cup of tea and chatted and he’d been here quite some time, and I gave him extra the other day because he’d worked so hard in hot weather, but cockles of dry old heart were warmed and expanded a bit.
The cat is becoming adorable. I’m not at all pleased about this, even as I stroke and caress her. She purred tonight, dammit. And I’m learning Cat – I know Dog and Horse reasonably well, and enough Tortoise to get by, but Cat has always been a foreign language to me. I will indeed end up a mad cat woman.