I worked in the greenhouse for an hour and then went to the shop at 7.30. 6 hours later I crawled home. Al, however, will be working until 6 o’clock tonight, so I am not going to grumble.
The new shop layout is working well, but poor Eileen was taken aback when she arrived to find everything in a different place. Lots of prices have changed too, most of them down. We shouldn’t both have been in the shop this morning, but Sarah rang in yesterday afternoon to say she wasn’t well. Three people are needed on a Saturday morning, and particularly a Bank Holiday weekend.
It had started raining by the time I arrived home, so I hurriedly took in the washing. I cooked eggs and ate them in front of the computer, reading and replying to emails. I ate a square of chocolate and drank a glass of wine. I want to do nothing but relax this afternoon, but I have lots to do in the greenhouse still, the kitchen is chaotic and I have flower arrangements to dismantle and replace in the church.
The Sage announced yesterday evening (and only when I asked him if he had plans for the day) that he had decided to drive up to his old school in Derbyshire, where they’re having an Old Boys’ reunion. He hadn’t booked in, but hey, they can always squeeze in one more for lunch… He’ll have taken his Old Boys’ blazer, which is gaudily striped and which he can still fit into, after several decades.
My school in Lowestoft closed down a year after I left and there is no society to belong to. One schoolfriend is a regular customer and came in today. In the course of conversation (and I can’t remember the context) she announced to a shopful that I’d always been barking mad. I hadn’t realised that, I thought it had come upon me gradually over the years.
Now, what shall I do next? Garden, clean, flowers, read the paper, have a nap?
What do you think I’ll do?
Update at 8.20
Hands up who said ‘she’ll work her arse off for the next five hours”?
Hm. So you’re all wrong then. For that’s just what I did do. Now, I await the imminent return of my man, when he will be greeted with the aroma of Spag Bol. With home-grown lettuce, new season broad beans and peas (lovingly shelled by the Fair Hand of Z) and a glass of wine. Or two.
Until then I will sit and listen to Thelonious Monk. For he seems to fit the mood. As could Isaac Hayes. But tonight, my mouse clicked on the Monk.
PS – When I arrived home again at 7, I discovered Ro cleaning up the kitchen. Unasked. Oh, thank you Ro. It’s the ‘unasked’ that warms the cockles.