Blogging from Bridport - Day 14
Day 14
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'On the ground in france' (son)
'Office darling' (daughter)
'Nearly 90' (mother)
We wake up and realise its April 1st. I get a
text from ‘Office darling’ ‘Pinch Punch’. It’s the first time she’s beaten me
to it for years, it was the second cup of tea that delayed me. She’s been
furloughed so needs something to keep her occupied until she can participate in
voluntary work. I immediately put her forward as the one to queue outside the
pharmacy for ‘nearly 90’s’ prescription. ‘The undertakers’ phone goes. Its his
Mother also requiring necessary medication. Different chemists, opposite sides
of the road.
The sun is shining this morning and so we decide to walk through
the churchyard, where the prettiest pale pink cherry tree is just beginning to
flower, through to the fields beyond. We encounter someone we know who stops to
say hello. She’s got the most extraordinary fringe, is this the first of the
home cuts gone wrong, or is this a new fashion? Bridport is renowned for its
eclectic mix of people and she is an artist so maybe, just maybe, its intentional.
Either way I keep firmly shtum.
'The undertaker’ has no work on today, much to my surprise, and
is threatening to strim, that’s once he’s cut down an old Royal Air Force
folding table so he can work alongside me. I encourage him to go and strim
first hoping the air will exhaust him and he’ll forget the table idea!
We have laundry to pop out on the line (again) because on
reading Capt’n Jinxy’s offering this morning hot off the
press from Delhi ‘The undertaker’ guffawed loudly forgetting he had a mouthful
of tea. Whilst struggling with the king size duvet cover I see the collar doves
which incidentally, he now tells me are great big fat common wood pigeons, are at
it on the garden fence again.
Rummaging through the drawers of my leather topped desk,
sadly not a partners type (but nonetheless not a bad little find for £10 from
the local tip, possibly mahogany? (But let’s not steer off course!) I flip
through my spare greeting cards. ‘The undertaker’ thought yesterday’s idea of
sending a little note to elderly folk a ‘very nice’ gesture. ‘Most of them
won’t have a clue who you are’ he said 'but I daresay a postcard with a pretty
picture will cheer them up'.
Last night I made an extremely delicious rhubarb crumble
with the first of the seasons crop. With fine shavings of orange and lashings
of clotted cream on top (in my wildest of dreams! crème fraiche had to suffice!)
it really was seriously nice. I made a tiny one for ‘Nearly 90’ too and thought
of ‘On the ground in France’, so far far away, yet constantly in my thoughts. He
shares my love of a decent pudding.
We debate on how this crisis might change everyone’s
perception of our world, of relationships, of how we treat others, but surely
most important of all, who the real heroes are?
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