Emerging from lockdown - day 2
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Nearly 90' (mother)
Lets turn our attention to important matters today. 'The undertaker' received a mysterious package yesterday and after a thorough investigation of the exterior I deemed it only right and proper to open it (It had my address on after all). This is another fine example of a politically incorrect/illegal act by myself by the opening of someone else's post. It was from the Regimental Shop. A very smart band of ribbon neatly folded up in a tin box lay therein (a Regimental hat band for his summer hat!). The invoice was also enclosed. I wrote the word PHURLEEEEZE in bright red letters circling what I considered to be the exorbitant cost. 'The undertaker' explained that it came from his military pension. 'You don't have to explain yourself to me' I said in a sanctimonious fashion. We both laughed very loudly at this, I mean VERY LOUDLY.
There's so little to laugh about these days, laughing is like a grubby act you are only allowed to do in the privacy of your own home. 'Close the blackout curtains' I say to 'The undertaker' and turn the shower on full power and we'll have a furtively snatched belly laugh'. Nothing like good old fashioned trade craft if you get my drift. Some will, some won't...
Mr Ratty, who was rapidly soaring to the dizzying heights of 'top rat' in the whole sorry saga of lockdown diaries, hasn't been seen for some days now. I think he's found a comfy billet elsewhere but I may be wrong. I mistakenly accused 'The undertaker' of providing a 'Fortnum & Mason food hall' experience for 'our friend' as I came upon a highly suspicious brown poo like shape in the garden shed. 'There's proof' I said witheringly 'that you need to look after your nuts better and put them away properly'. Anyone overhearing this exchange may have got the wrong end of the stick and who could blame them? 'It's nothing more than a shrivelled up slug' he shouted back. 'Your words not mine' I said. We both howled with laughter VERY LOUDLY in the garden.
It's a grey day with a steady downpour of rain. I never thought I would say this but it is most welcome. Everything in the garden, to my eyes at least, has never looked better. The foxgloves are magnificent, attracting bees galore. The fruit trees are laden and bending under the weight of the fruit already. My poppies are beginning to flower. I can smell the sweet fragrance of the honeysuckle on the air. An awkward Jasmine is curling its way up the fence and flowering. A stubborn clematis is showing its first ever flowers and I have spied my first reddening raspberry. Perhaps being forced to stop for a while and reflect wasn't such a bad thing after all, making me realise what I had. But let's be brutally honest here, (before I'm depicted as 'Saintly Sally'). The unbelievably hot weather suits me down to a tee. 'The undertaker' says its like being married to a completely different woman, as I wax lyrical about the joys of dining outdoors and al fresco living.
However on this occasion I could have done with the unprecedented heatwave lasting just a few days longer for 'nearly 90's' birthday. We have erected a gazebo in the garden and adorned it with colourful lights. The rose beds and the wildness of the unstructured planting of flowers make a delightful setting. I envisaged candles dripping gently from their silver candlesticks whilst we toasted her birthday with a glass of chilled bubbles as I triumphantly cut the cake I have just baked. A day filled with sunshine along with a welcoming slight breeze.
But you cannot plan life and so I think its going to be a truly British affair tomorrow, ie; the show must go on regardless of the weather. Later today 'The undertaker' and I will fix on three sides to the gazebo and trundle out a gas heater in preparation to stop us all seizing up with the unfamiliar cold. We shall be stoic and with typical determination we shall enjoy ourselves.
Lets hope 'Mr Ratty' doesn't get wind of the plans and try and gatecrash the party...
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