Another day, another lunch

Friday March 18, 2005

A perfect Spring day, sunny, warm, and with a pleasant breeze from the West. It could have arrived almost by request after yesterday, which was all of the above except for the warm.

“What are you going to do today?” I asked.

“Finish off the second bedroom. Why, did you want to go out somewhere?”

“Oh, no. I’ve everything I need. No need to go out at all.”

“Really? What’s for lunch?”

“Ham salad sandwiches.”

“Nice. What’s for dinner, then?”

“Pig’s bum, cabbage and potatoes, with a fruity yoghurt to follow.”

“Sounds as though you have it all planned out.”

“Sure do. First thing, though, I’m going to take a nap while the diuretic works through my system.”

“Is it a bad one again?”

“Nope. Just marginally uncomfortable.”

So I lay on the bed watching the sun light, reflected from the pool, as it danced on the ceiling, and dreamed of… Actually, I’ve no idea what I dreamt but it must have been something uplifting because when the diuretic woke me and I toddled off to the bathroom I was humming a nice happy little made-up tune instead of my normal groaning and complaining.

“Sounds as if the nap worked?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to face the world now.”

“Which part of it?”

“Just the garden, and perhaps a trip up the lane a little way. Might feed the fishes. They seem to be waking up from their winter torpor.”

The fishes got fed, though they didn’t seem much bothered about taking their first meal of the year. All the small ones seem to have disappeared. I wonder if dark, sluggish acts of casual cannibalism don’t take place in the depths of the pool over winter. I still don’t much like goldfish. We’ve been here a year now, and celebrate our first anniversary under this roof in a couple of weeks but I still don’t really see the point of goldfish and I shall not give them a second thought when we move away.

As the house gets closer and closer to being in a marketable condition our discussions and debates on the nature and location of the next place take on a more and more serious tone, with one or the other of us suddenly piping up at intervals throughout the day with an “I wonder what…” or a “Do you think…”.

We shall see. For the first time in our lives together I’m content with a “whatever” approach, saying that so long as Dolly and I will be safe and happy, we’ll follow Graham’s lead wherever it takes us. I’m doing my best not unduly to influence our thinking. Or at all, really. Which, while I’m convinced is the correct way for me to think, is not sitting too easy with him.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “I don’t do decisions.”

“Not to worry, then. We’ll sort it out in our own quiet little way.”

“Good. What did you say we were having for lunch?”


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