Blogging from Bridport - Day 46
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Office darling' (daughter)
'The hunk' (BF of OD)
I won't tell you what time I woke up this morning because it is so out of character and frankly I don't think bedroom scenes are on the cards anytime yet.
Goodness knows what meal my boiled egg was (slightly overdone). If I could look back far enough through the mists of time it used to be known as 'brunch'. Very 80's. Some poncy bar in Draycott Ave SW3 if I recall... And there was me thinking my memory was fading.
'The undertaker' is painting Neatsfoot oil on his walking boots because we're going on a hike. The option of lying on a fat feather filled sofa isn't open to me apparently despite me croaking my best croak he declares me fit enough to walk. I had developed a small blister the other day and thought it prudent to apply a plaster. 'The undertaker' has purchased, (at some expense) extra long finger plasters with padding. Why anyone would do that for toes is beyond me but he tells me to 'hurry up' and put one on. Imagine if you will someone trying to tie a turban round their head for the first time. Yards and yards of tangled chaos. I'm minding my own business (unusual) struggling with the enormity of all this when 'ding dong' someone is at the front door. I limp to the window and see 'Office darling' and 'the hunk' (that's the BF). There is a cake tin in the middle of the pavement and they have expectant looks on their faces. Before I know what's happening 'The undertaker' has taken out the remains of yesterdays melt in the mouth Victoria Sponge and handed it over. Just like that.
There's a fine coastal mist which the sun can't quite break through today. 'Come along' shouts 'The undertaker' 'work off some of that cake'... Joker. 'Office darling' and 'BF' have joined us at some distance, I hasten to add. It's nice but I have to shout to chat. 'The undertaker' is trying to prove he's as 'fit as' and soon he is quite a distance ahead. 'Office darling' and I are trailing behind. She turns to me and says quite out of the blue 'Are you wearing a bra'? Unbelievable! I'm so cross I bellow up to 'The undertaker' 'My bra needs hoisting up'. The South West coast path is some 630 miles long but only I could catch the attention of some pervert on it, walking his horrid little terrier behind me.
When I get home I collapse into a wonderful deep hot bath. Turns out the plaster was on the wrong toe anyway. The oven is turned on for roast chicken so we can maintain some sense of normality to our Sunday. This morning, I had read in a national paper a 'lockdown diary' from a well known columnist. In this article she appeared to have 'dobbed in' a) her neighbours b) her family. Illegal bbq's, illegal drugs and more. 'Imagine if I did that'? I said to 'The undertaker'. 'I would be lynched'. 'But well paid' he added.
'It's not all about money anymore though is it'? I remarked and he agreed. Its about principles and looking out for each other.
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