Blogging from Bridport - Day 22

Day 22.

The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'On the ground in France' (son)
'Office darling' (daughter)
'Nearly 90' (mother)

The sun beamed through the bedroom window, the early morning twittering of birds filled the air. It was going to be a good day, a positive day, I was going to do calm, so chilled I would be horizontal.
I flung open the drawing room curtains, the sight of the church opposite bathed in sunlight, the cross of St George fluttering high on the flagpole. And suddenly without warning the entire picture changed horribly. There he was, out on the street, notebook in hand, a yellow florescent jacket marking him out for all and sundry. Another traffic warden for the second day running slapping tickets on cars, here in the sleepy market town of Bridport. Haven't the council got better ways of filling the public purse? Is this absolutely necessary? Is a traffic warden a key worker? Despite being warned by 'The undertaker' not to misbehave I opened up the sash window, (with some difficulty I might add) 'I bet you're proud of yourself' I shouted.

Feeling pleased with myself and vowing to complain to the council I took myself off into the garden where I hoped serenity might return. My precious Erysimum cheiri (wallflower) had already begun to be desecrated by snails as had the red hot poker (Kniphofia uvaria) . No flies on me! Forgetting my earlier outburst to some poor hapless man merely trying to do his job I gently removed the snails and threw them into the neighbours garden. (Only kidding!) Really, what a sick sense of humour.

Last night we may have partaken of red wine. Failing to find any solace of late in the classics that groan on our bookshelves I suggest a game. 'Who would you least want to be in confinement with' I ask 'The undertaker'. His hearing is slightly dicky from his time in the army so his answer of  Nigella Lawson was ridiculous. He had obviously misheard and thought I had said 'most want to be in confinement with' so my answer of  'my first husband' was met with a most violent reaction. Strange as I was abiding by the rules of the game. To take my last four squares of chocolate was churlish as was my reaction of taking his last drop of wine.

To calm things down in the household  and appease him we binge watch some episodes of  Ozark, a gentle story of a couple running from the brutality of the Mexican cartel.
Finally we catch sight of the magnificent moon rising slowly and elegantly above the hills behind the house. We agree that we might never again  catch such glimpses of the wonders of our fragile earth so clearly (one of the few positives to come out of the present crisis). We are momentarily silenced and somewhat awestruck as we soak up the spectacle.

Once I had done a laundry run for 'nearly 90' I drag the teak wood sun lounger from its winter hibernation. A sound investment if ever there was one. No sooner had I settled myself  comfortably down than 'The undertaker' arrives back home imparting snippets of his day that are unsettling and sad. I feel for everyone right now who has to work on the front line, from the carers, the supermarket workers, the delivery drivers, the NHS, in fact, to every single unsung hero/heroine out there as each and everyone of them keep the country ticking over.

Everyone but the traffic warden and especially the idiot in the Council who thinks his presence is required in these circumstances.