night time reveries

The cottage has a hole where the dog used to be.
Emmy, the cat, sleeps on the bean bag. I wonder if she is missing him too. But It is only my vain imaginings.
The clematis flowers, huge great big purple ones, have burst their buds round Jims shed.
The re-potted purple sage has kicked up a fuss. It did not like being moved into a new terracotta pot. So now the roses, instead of having their purple companion, drop their petals over a dishevelled droopy herb which looks like its sulking.

Lydia, our new weeder, had left by the time I arrived home on Friday night.
The journey took me just shy of three hours. By the time I hit East Sussex I was falling asleep at the wheel.
The old git and I decided to have a Friday night curry. So we drove into a deserted twillage.
The ‘Rose of Bengal’ smells damp but the foliage blossoms and blooms whatever the weather.
Its plastic.
Lemons and variagated ivy climb all over the walls.
We had two popadoms, chutneys, tandoori chicken, HOT potatoes, loose lamb and a naan.
The hot towels, for wiping our fingers, came to the table alongside four slices of orange and two ‘After Eight’ mints slipped in individual sachets. That and the combination of chillies made me feel nauseous.
Johnathon Ross was boring but it took my eyes off the dust. My erstwhile cleaner, presser, dog walker and cushion plumper, has been in Kuwait. Gae has been with us since B turned into double figures. The loss of her and the dog makes the cottage feel alien.
I have decided that on Sunday I am going to blitz the place. Dust away the cobwebs in the corners and vacuum the sofa. If Mohammed won’t go to the mountain the mountain must get down on her hands and knees and scrub the flagstones herself.
Sometimes too much change can stir up the emotions. I spent all of Saturday being tweaked. Firstly by Diana who gave me a Japanese massage and pummled my muscles into submission. Then by Jenny who gave my follicles a work out before splitting hairs.
Since I had seen so little of the ‘oosbind today I sat next to him in the restaurant. 16 of us celebrated a chums birthday. The old, the young, the married and the newly divorced. The elbow room was scant and the conversation diverse. From New Zealand gold mining to Italian vegetables, from Voltswagen Vans to Dyslexic coaching.
We left earlier than most as we had another do to attend.
Driving through the lanes in the dark always makes me realise how we carry our security within. When its pitch black outside its only the memory of what is that remains.
BB’s best friend was celebrating his 21st. He’s studying zoology in Bristol. He and his band – the reason he failed his insect biology paper – several relatives and us, charged our glasses as the four year old lad that played at ‘Little Acorns’ with BB got the key of the door.
Our children are taking over the world, and long may it be so.
We left the merriment watched a little of Joyce Grenfell, fell into bed, Jim started snoring then stopped so I woke him up as I thought he’d died, and now BB and AJ have arrived home.
It’s 2.06 time for bed…..it was only yesterday that BB ad AJ were listening to ‘Incubus’ and chilling on Tropicana OJ…..
‘Oh! No mum, please don’t write that….’
night night
cuallsoon