Blogging from Bridport - Day 33

Day 33

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

There must be some mistake surely? The sun is streaming through the bedroom curtains, AGAIN. As bedroom curtains go ours are rather lux, in a terribly boho preloved chic sort of way. They are neither artfully or purposely hip, its just that I make a conscious effort to never buy new. I derive the utmost of pleasure just looking at them. In a classic Liberty of London small print and of the smoothest fine lawn cotton they really are a dream. Hues of soft greens, little dashes of raspberry pinks, slashes of deep gold skilfully entwined with dabs of cornflower blue. Its unfortunate that when the early morning suns streams through the windows you can see the huge patch but as I explained to 'The undertaker', when he pointed out this flaw, it's all part of the character.

Idly looking out of the bathroom window this morning, I observe the rapidly changing vista. The vine covering a large white wall is now nearly fully out, the palm tree is fluttering contentedly, (bought to remind me of my garden in France) the apple blossom has never been finer, the large tree at the bottom of the garden has all but obscured the modern house behind whilst the hills beyond curve graciously in the distance. Not one to waste time however, whilst gazing at all this, I clean the electric toothbrush for the second time in a week. I can't believe I'm reduced to this.

'The undertaker' has to drive his Mother to the eye hospital in Bournemouth for ongoing treatment. He reports the roads have never been clearer. Her appointment doesn't take long, it is on time and the hospital is being run smoothly and efficiently. The consultant is calm and reassuring. That's 10/10 for the NHS.

Last night I succumbed to making a rational comment on a facebook page, disagreeing with someone elses point of view, (mildly I might add). Some people typed their grievances in SHOUTY capital letters and the thread rapidly became animated. Given that this is a page where people are supposedly able to air their views, SHOUTY or not, the speed in which the thread was closed down was disappointing. This is called venting your frustration, not to be classed as on-line bullying until it becomes personal. It reminded me of being at kindergarten when you got SHOUTY and CROSS and you were deprived of your milk and biscuits at break time. 'So much for free speech' I said to 'The undertaker'. 'Never mind' he said 'its the last episode of Belgravia'. Hurraaah! Good old Julian Fellowes, unwittingly coming to the rescue of the Nation's sanity from a time when if a gentleman behaved like a cad he got a biff on the nose as he so rightly deserved!

I am ploughing my way through a bottle of Highland Spring water with ill humour. I am aiming for one litre a day. Do you think this could be a fund raising exercise given that its not my favourite tipple? Just saying...

I am doing 'nearly 90's' washing. Without wishing to sound saintly, which I am most certainly not, it is quite educational and informative into how disorganised I truly am. I have great admiration for anyone with a net sock bag containing a correctly matching selection of pairs of socks. Whilst pegging it all out as well as admiring my humble patch, constituting  our town garden, I notice my Peonies are about to emerge. This stunning deepest of pinks variety is 'Office darlings' favourite. I feel sad. I think of 'On the ground in France' and I want him to have our South of France weather too. I want to be able to take 'Nearly 90' out to lunch, to shop, to the sea. Its the gnawing frustration that sometimes threatens to unbalance you, the rocking of the boat as you endeavour to keep calm.

It is perhaps for this very reason that I haven't been invited to any zoom dinner parties, not even a measly apero and the virtual sharing of the nibbling of an olive. Maybe I have the reputation of being a shouty sort of person, I dunno. 'What do you think?' I ask 'The undertaker'. 'I neither think nor care' he replies. 'That's the spirit' I shout and we settle down happily to our mid morning milk and biscuits.