Its the end of a BIG four days off.
The cottage feels a little more normal, even though there is a big space where the dogs bed was.
On Friday I collected my newly mended motor, handed over the fancy courtesy car and headed off to a new hairdresser. An ex-body builder who now heals. She does a mean cut and colour, which isn’t mind numbingly expensive, but her healing she does free of charge as she believes her power comes from an invisible force.
She so energised me I drove straight home, hood down, mowed the grass and tossed my hair over the compost – because I’m worth it – by the time I got half way through I was smiling. Damn but I love mowing that lawn, I even gave Marmite Girl a little nod as she sent kind regards for the weekend.
Saturday saw me entertaining long-lost family. They had never visited the cottage before so it took them as long to get to East Sussex from Middlesex as it would a return flight to Adelaide. I gave them local asparagus with local duck eggs. Local turkey burgers with local purple potatoes, after which we had locally baked apple strudel, all from the local farmers market in Tunbridge Wells. The sun shone, we talked family and beyond and they left late. Owing to roadworks and their stupid Sat. Nav. they arrived home in time for Boxing Day breakfast.
On May 25th, 20 years ago, Jim and I got married. We celebrated the fact with all three daughters, present boyfriends, ex-fiancees, one grand daughter and one great grandmother. The event took place in the garden.The weather was kind, we quaffed several bottles of champagne, gorged on local sausages, local black potatoes, local lettuce and local cheese and as the local Church bells chimed we staggered inside for more of everything. This morning I was still wobbly on the old pins. As it was our CHINA anniversary we were given a beautiful Wedgewood cake-stand which was laden with little chocolate squares from Russia. Wedgewood plates, a delightful 50’s bone China tea-cup and saucer, a stunning set of purple painted art deco plates, one china door knob and a healthy fiscal donation from the grandmother.
Breakfast this morning was scrambled eggs, Bill Granger style – loads of cream and butter – bagels, smoked salmon and fractious arguments over spilt tea and freshly brewed coffee.
I am now suffering from an overload. ‘Britains Got Talent’ is shouting at me from the corner of the room. B is on her computer, Nathan is playing football, Jim is acting and I am preparing myself for tomorrows programme.
I need to go to work for a rest.
Finally a message to Mrs.Jones,
In response to your comment, there is nothing wrong with Chiselhurst, its called a joke.
And I am not in the business of competing for ‘who has had had the biggest grief competition’. The death of Jackson hit me sideways, he was part of my life for nearly 14 years.
I cannot, however, begin to imagine the pain a parent goes through after the death of a child. But grieving, Mrs. Jones, is unquantifiable.
I sincerely hope that whatever pain you have had in your life was dealt with rather more sensitively than you seem to be able to deal with others. I do, however, forgive your terseness even though sometimes it stings.
Please have a peaceful night and