I hoovered upstairs. He hoovered downstairs.
I ironed and did the washing, he made a bacon sandwich.
I plumped up the cushions in the sitting room he fed the cat.
Then he left and I loaded my car with my books, bags and a glorious bunch of gladioli that B had given me as a thank you for helping her put her car back on the road, she bought her dad four cans of ‘Speckled Hen’ beer!!!
Jim left and I detoured to the farm shop.
Bought 8 spears of asparagus, two tomatoes and a punnet of strawberries.
I nibbled my way through my raw food snack whilst listening to Mike Walkers play on Radio 4.
Arrived in the flat three minutes before Jim turned up with his brother and sister-in-law.
They were over from Ireland to go to the Chelsea Flower Show.
I made us coffee, and stood on the pink plastic kick stool to get a cup from the back of the cupboard. The stool broke, I slipped, the cafetier smashed, and my shoulder took a scraping down the draining board.
Three Nurofen later and a cup of delicious home made coffee set me up. They left and we met up again at 8.00 in the ‘Little Bay’ restaurant in Mount Pleasant.
A young tenor from Limerick sung very loudly over our vegetables. He posed in his tights and belt and belted out Verdi over our goose-fat-fried chips. He finished his medley as the waiter removed the last glass.
It was noisy and fun. The bill was remarkably cheap for four of us and the company delicious.
Jim drove us down to Blackfriars, London at night looks magnificent from that particular bridge, then down Stamford street, over the Imax roundabout, down to Lambeth Bridge, along the embankment, over Battersea Bridge to get to the south side and then after a hug and a I-don’t-want-you-to-go-whinge he left for home.
I am now alone in SW11 readying myself for tomorrow which has Bill Oddie, talking about manic depression, Ana Isobel, bio-dynamic gardener, Judy James, body language expert and The London Gay Mens Choir, which does what it says on the tin, all jostling for supremacy in my little studio in Egton House.
Then I’m off to a picnic party in the afternoon – lets hope it doesn’t rain too hard – and then it’s head down for two weeks as I sit in for Vanessa.
Its practically June which will be busting out all over, which if I’m honest is just like me – too much of the good life eh? It’s being with the old git, time for some abstemiousness, is there such a word? Whatever. You know what I mean…