Don’t frighten the horses

Saturday January 15, 2005


Stickford Jan 15,'04
A bit of the Einsteins


Not a lot of time for dawdling around in cafés and coffee bars today. Oh, no, chicken. It was all rush, rush, rush.

Or at least, it was once the postman ringing hard on the doorbell at ten o’clock this morning woke me from a deep, delicious sleep.

“Oh dear,” I said when I opened the door to him. “We seem to have done it in today.”

“Just as well I had this for you, then,” he said, handing me a to-be-signed-for letter. “You’d have slept right through the weekend else.”

“Oh dear,” I said to Graham when I took him his wake-up cup of tea. “We seem to have done it in today.”

“Not to worry,” he said. “But we’ll have to get our skates on.”

“Right you are.”

So we rushed through breakfast and ablutions and obligatory Dolly cuddlings, into central Boston, on to outer Boston, and thence to extremely outer Boston, dealing with post office, book shop, ordering a new cooker, and buying provisions for the weekend.

“That was a bit of rush,” I said as we motored home the easy way, through a grey, cold, misty afternoon over the fens.

“Sure was. We done good, though.”

“Oh, yes. I only forgot one thing.”

“What’s that, then?”

“In the panic to get out I seem to forgotten to brush my hair.”

“So you did. I thought you were looking a bit Einstein-ish when you were dealing with that woman about the cooker.”

“Aye. Well, it’s all relative,” I sighed, trying to smooth my hair down in the driving mirror, to the great alarm of a passing hiker and a group of sheep clustered on top of a mound of dredger-spill.

“Put your hat back on, do. You’ll frighten the horses.”

 

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