Blogging from Bridport - Day 38

Day 38

The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Nearly 90' (mother)


Awake at 0600 hrs and the first thing I hear (albeit faintly) is the sound of the cuckoo. Not once but twice, what a beautiful melody, music to the ears to be sure.

We are out of the front door by 0800 hrs  full of the joys of spring. We both conclude that in our previous lives we must have been saints to be so blessed. We pass through fields of vibrant yellow buttercups on our walk to West Bay. There is a cooling breeze, the world feels silent and thoughtful and we know we are sheltered to a certain extent from the horrors so many people are fighting, most with courage and dignity. There seems to be one occupied  flat overlooking the harbour, we see the lady occupant most days, so we give a cheery wave of recognition.

It feels most strange not to be doing my market stall on a Saturday, this is a weekend world that we are not used to, one where we don't look at our watches, one where we are unfettered by obligations. We no longer huff and puff as we climb up the steep coastal path anymore, I spy a large black beetle, its shiny hard shell glistening in the sun. Next to us on the path are bright eyed baby rabbits,completely unafraid of our presence, whilst a female kestrel hovers frantically overhead eyeing up her prey. There isn't a soul in sight, the only sound is the sea far below us as the waves break over the shore.

We pass through the churchyard where my dear Father is buried and pause awhile by his grave. I had planted some lemon balm and French and English lavender a while ago yet I can hardly bring myself to say which one is flourishing. We finish our coffee in the tranquillity of this sacred spot. 'See you tomorrow' I say to him, for surely someone somewhere must be looking over me, it must be him, as no-one else ever had his patience.

When we get back to civilisation (our street) a neighbour is trundling a wheelbarrow up the road containing a brand new hedgehog house and a huge bunch of dried elephant garlic heads which I immediately nab for a flower arrangement. 'Fancy some homemade marmalade too?' he asks and trots off leaving me guarding the hedgehog house.

Before my entire body stiffens up completely I pick 'Nearly 90' some herbs out of the garden to mix into her salads and take her the Saturday paper. I sit outside her front door for a while before getting up (with some difficulty!). When I arrive home 'The undertaker' is cutting the lawn. There is something rather pleasing about the gentle whirr of a push along mower, especially when you're not the one pushing it!

We come inside and settle down for a well earned cup of tea and I switch the radio on. There's a woman earnestly talking about projections or something but because she starts every sentence with 'So' I have to switch it off.

'Well' says 'The undertaker' (he doesn't ever say 'so') 'we have both been so very uncontroversial today'. No remarks about second home owners, (recently arrived!) sunning themselves in their front gardens, no complaints about the family spread out on the beach picnicking, no mention of your 'pleasant' exchange with the fisherman on the pier'. This is food for thought indeed. Are we both becoming more tolerant? more forgiving? better people? mellowing with age?

I sharpen up the end of the Ikea pencil thoughtfully until the tip is razor sharp. 'Ever seen a spider jump?' I say.

We both hoot with laughter. ONLY KIDDING, I love my freeloading lodger.