Lockdown from Bridport - Part 3 - Day 62

Last night we went out to look at the stars. As far as I know there's not a law against looking up at the night sky although I admit it involved getting into the car to drive the short distance to avoid light pollution. 'What will I say if we're stopped' I fret. 'The Undertaker' has the advantage over me in this instance because he has had a drink. 'I don't give a monkeys' he replies and goes on about the right to look up at the stars which have been there for zillions of years, way way way before mankind was even thought of' he concludes. Fortunately Plod decided to give the back end of beyond a miss last night so I was spared. We hadn't seen a sky so clear and bright in years, something to do with the absence of aeroplane pollution. It was quite something.

Because I lead the life of riley I am invited to go and help myself to daffodils today at a friends house in the neighbouring village of Symondsbury. It's a beautiful spot and one that I know extremely well. In a previous life I grew fruit on the land. I pick up my Mother who comes along for the ride. The long drive up to the house is an avenue of daffodils. We sit awhile on the bench in the warm sun and admire the view. Sheep bleat and graze contentedly in the background. It's so peaceful you could hear a pin drop. A large bee is busily humming around the clematis which is beginning to flower. 'Who would have thought' she muses out loud. 'Indeed' I reply as we both hark back to many years previously. Life has a habit of being very odd. I could have happily stayed sitting there all day but had flowers to pick. As I bent down amongst the various clumps of blooms I couldn't help but think how fortunate I am.

The Sunday paper lies abandoned on the kitchen table, although at a quick glance it could have been mistaken for yesterday's due to the same dreary couple being on the front. It's a very unattractive trait in my opinion to air your dirty laundry in public. Why they couldn't have just got on with their lives and devoted themselves to the wellbeing of their respective families is beyond me. And who but someone with a 'death wish' would trash their Grandmother who just happens to be the Queen of England, for heavens sake. If you've got a beef, spit it out behind closed doors. Nothing worse than a young man being manipulated by a scheming woman who has no regard or understanding of his family. Oh God, we've all met them...

Some light gardening was called for. I have to watch 'The Undertaker' in the garden because he can be barbaric with plants. I'm busy tending to a red hot poker selecting the dead leaves to remove with care when he comes along wanting to chop it to the ground. Fortunately he selects a spade from the shed and we finally plant my little mimosa. We spread farmyard manure on the raised beds and call it a day. 

Later on we shall dine on roast chicken along with purple sprouting, sweet bunched carrots and bashed potato drizzled with olive oil. I freely admit to having a grand life, if only Meghan could just find pleasure in simple things she may discover a smidgeon of inner peace.