Emerging from lockdown

The cast:
Me
'The undertaker' (husband)
'Our visitor' (Jackdaw)

I was so cold on Saturday night that I lit a fire. I thrive on the heat, indeed I must have turned into such a happy go lucky, agreeable kind of person that 'The undertaker' came home every night and asked where his wife had gone. He loves his own jokes.

For such a small outside space it was amazing that we managed to fill most of yesterday weeding and tidying up the garden. I hadn't felt like going far as Saturday night was a disaster, insofar as we were about to eat and 'The undertaker' got called out.The pork stir fry was thus put on hold till his return. Never eat pork late at night... Spent the whole day thinking I was on the verge of a heart attack and generally grumbling all day long. What a joy I must be to live with. However, on the plus side, the weeding got done.

This morning he must have deemed me sufficiently recovered, or had lost patience, to go into a mini rage at the iron and try and pin the blame onto me. He's one of these people whose white shirts have to be utterly pristine and I have never tried to match his utter competence at ironing. 'I'm afraid you can't lay the blame at my door' I said 'for the fact that the iron is spewing out brown filth. The same as I wouldn't dream of holding you responsible for any malfunction of the hoover'. He then filled the wretched iron with some evil liquid which consequently filled the room with thick foul smelling steam. Choking and spluttering he declared 'we need a new iron!'

The highlight of my weekend, (apart from a couple of glasses of agreeably chilled rose) was to observe 'our visitor' just outside the kitchen window making a twit of himself and completely ruining my pink thrift by sitting on it. It is now agreed that it is a jackdaw rather than a crow. 'The undertaker' has every bird spotting book under the sun so he was non too pleased to admit he got it wrong. 'So much for your i Spy bird books' I said rather smugly. By then 'our visitor' must have got bored of our friendly debates and without so much as a by your, leave he flew off. I had to admit peace reined once again and Mr. Blackbird regained his rightful place on the garden fence and sang his heart out for us.

There is so much angst in the world that I decided to visit the local garden centre for some serenity. If you can't find peace amongst rows and rows of perfectly blooming roses of all descriptions, there really is no hope for you. I spent an agreeable half an hour pushing my nose into David Austins scented blooms before wincing as my credit card hovered over the card machine. 'Whooosh' it's all so easy to spend but, as I am mostly known for my frugality, I felt not an iota of guilt.

I was minding my own business when I heard a faint tapping on the sitting room window, which as we have a peculiar topsy turvy house, is on the first floor, whilst we have a snug/office on the ground floor below. Both face out onto the street. There was 'our visitor' fixing me with a beady stare and tapping on the window making his incessant jackdaw noises. I went outside and opened the front door and in he hopped straight through to the back garden heading directly for the water bowl by the kitchen window. As I write this he is currently perched on the window ledge and fixing me with his unique quizzical look. 'The undertaker' remarks drily that he is 'after all my glittering jewellery' and we both snort as I don't covet such things.

It is an uplifting little tale in what could easily be an otherwise bleak world should we let it be.