Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 61

I

It wasn't forecast, but in the end the sun shone for most of the day. I purchased a terrific high backed cane chair for the shop from the local clearance emporium which gave me the excuse of indulging in a few loaves from my favourite bakery in the same village. On the way back instead of taking the direct route home I dawdled along the back lanes. The banks were full of wild primroses and where the hedges hadn't been cut back the catkins dangled, but as anyone will know, they look prettier left where they are, out amongst nature as they tend to drop as soon as you cut them.

Went up to MIL's this afternoon. As we drove through the village we saw a large plume of smoke billowing in the distance, coming, quite alarmingly, from the direction of her house. 'The Undertaker', now quite concerned, roared up the drive. The house stood serene and intact but from the bottom of the garden a small figure could be seen through the wreaths of smoke enthusiastically piling paper onto a raging bonfire. We walk across the lawn but the two of them are so engrossed that they don't notice us. A wheelbarrow is simply overflowing with paperwork. Finally they turn and see us. 'Hello' they both croak. MIL's companion is finally disposing of his mountains of carefully filed paperwork dating from the early 1950's. Intrigued we pick up a couple of sheets. It's a bill from The Waldorf Hotel, London dated 1956 for a two night stay along with two tickets for the Cambridge Theatre for one of the evenings. Interestingly the theatre tickets still have their counterfoils attached. MIL's companion explains he had partaken of champagne in the afternoon and forgotten the tickets for the performance (he and his brand new wife did get into the performance btw, through the actions of a kind theatre manager, should you be wondering!) . The bill came to £8/17 shillings for two nights which is £4,8 shillings and 6d a night. We were of course both completely intrigued and amused by the tale and its history. 'Don't throw that on the bonfire' we shout in unison. 

Politely declining an early evening drink with the excuse that I have a daily blog spot to write we come home where I position myself comfortably in the front room window. I have a fresh jug of deep pink and pale pink tulips on the wooden window sill. The evening sun is rather pleasingly falling over the table as I type. My friend goes by with her little boy, who although an absolute poppet, can be quite stern on occasions for one so young. But no, today he delights me by throwing back his head and laughing quite charmingly. I go to the window and wave, good grief, he is receptive today, his face positively wreathed in dimpled smiles. 'The Undertaker' enters the room whilst I am gushing at the window. 'Have you seen yourself'? he asks sniggering. Apparently my face is covered in black smuts from the bonfire smoke. Quite why this is so amusing is beyond me...