Bridport lockdown diary - Day 60
The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
We sat up far too late, I mean waaaay too late with the drawbridge firmly up on the spacious sofa. A solitary chocolate bar wrapper sat in front of us accusingly, reminding us yet again that we were sloths hellbent on another night in. I uttered the fateful words 'just one more episode'. That was our undoing.
I heard the haunting sound of the cuckoo in the distance early this morning. That's twice this year. Worth noting I feel. Another empty exciting day ahead, no plans, no pressing engagements, just an unfinished kitchen to contemplate. What began as a 'quick freshen up' has turned into a mammoth DIY project. What is it with men and hardware stores? 'The undertaker' just loves popping up the road for more provisions. Run out of undercoat? No problem, any excuse to escape the chaos that is currently our kitchen... if you ask me.
We take lunch outside (again). I'm hooked on olives sprinkled into large salads along with crumbled feta cheese and herbs picked fresh out of the garden. Mediterranean living right under our noses here in sunny Dorset. We spy Mr Ratty scuttling, bounding even, with unsurpassed glee over the lawn. I felt queasy, the joy of outdoor living paling as the vision of his large tail leaves an uneasy imprint on my mind. 'The undertaker' is overjoyed as its an excuse to rush off with indecent haste to the hardware shop, yet again, to get the largest most expensive state of the art rat trap. So far he has checked up on the contraption twice to see if he has managed to capture the brute. Suddenly those snowy white seagulls nesting peacefully up on the roof seem almost lovable, almost...
Faffing about in our indecent haste to finish the blasted task of the kitchen, the project I decided we should embark upon in lockdown bliss 'The undertaker' splits a wooden shelf he was neatening up to fit a newly formed space. You've guessed it, we had run out of wood glue.
In desperation to break the self inflicted monotony I put a wash on, nothing like pegging out single socks to soothe the nerves. The sun is shining, the garden is looking prettier by the day with the fruit trees threatening to produce a bumper crop this year. Bees are finding their way into the large foxgloves springing up randomly in the borders. The wild strawberries and love-in-the-mist threaten to spill over and fill every crack and crevice they can cram themselves into. The two fat grey wood pigeons have become blatantly cocky on the garden fence, not bothering to stir themselves as I venture out.
Day 60. How did we get here without coming to blows? without losing our marbles? without running screaming into the abyss of insanity? I don't know, I don't care, I have no answers, no magic potion.
All is tranquil in the garden of Eden. Well...almost.
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