It could be worse

Sunday May 22, 2005

The start of my day gave no clue to the way it was going to finish. Not that it finished in a bad way. Just less than optimum, is all.

When I’d done with my morning writing, I turned to what I’m coming to think of as my second job. These days, it seems, most folks have to have more than one job, one way or another, sometimes just to make ends meet but as often as not because a lot of jobs are part-time, so you need more than one of them to constitute a full working week and a full working income.</p

I took the rest of my bits for eBay into the kitchen, washed and dried them carefully, lined them up for photography, and started in on the first item. Going great guns, I made a decent picture, took it out to the workshop and packed it nicely, lining up my packing materials to get the rest done. Then I came back into the study, weighed it in its parcel, wrote a description and filed it ready to load up this evening. I was going great guns, and feeling good.

“I think I’ll take a break now and nip into Spilsby for potatoes,” I said.

“Why potatoes?”

“I forgot them when we went to Tescos and you can’t have a roast dinner without potatoes. That’d be illegal.”

“Ah. Well, while you’re there, see if you can get one of their nice apple pies.”

“Do me best.”

And off I sailed into the sunshine, passing, among others, a field of nice cabbages. Mmmm, tempting. And another, with potatoes just ready to pick. Mmmm, even more tempting. I tell ya, round here a dishonest fella could keep his table nicely supplied just by popping out a couple of nights a week for a bit of illicit vegetable poaching. Makes you wonder if you’ve got it quite right, does motoring past fields of good fresh vegetables to buy three-day-old ones in the supermarket.

Anyway, I got my bits, said hello to a friendly little dog in the carpark—a Yorkshire Terrier who weighed in at about one third of the size of Dolly the Mega-Cat—smiled at his owner, and came back home.

It was when I got up after lunch that I realized I was suffering an energy gap of the major kind.

“Gosh,” I said. “I feel so tired all of a sudden.”

“What sort of tired?”

“Oh, nothing special. Just an out of energy kind of tired.”

“You’d better hop off and take a bit of a nap, then.”

“I’ll do that. Wake me up if I sleep too long?”

“Sure thing.”

I’m told I was really, really fast asleep when he came along with my wake-up mug of coffee, so he put it on my night stand and tiptoed off. It was stone cold when I woke. And the light was strangely dim. I looked at the clock. Bless me if it wasn’t a little after half-past seven.

“‘Ere!” I yelled. “Why have you given me a cold cup of coffee?”

“It wasn’t cold when I put it there.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that. It’s cold now, though.”

“Hang on and I’ll get you a fresh one.”

Peeling potatoes at half-past eight in the evening is a bit late even for me. And sitting down to a Sunday roast at half-past ten is way off normal timing. I’m an ‘eight for eight-thirty’ kind of bloke when it comes to my Sunday dinner.

“Mmm,” I said, munching away at a small slice of the rhubarb pie I’d been obliged to buy in the absence of the apple variety. “This really is a tasty bit of pie. Sets a chap up, does a bit of pie like this.”

“Sets you up for what?”

“Well, when we’ve stacked the dishes and cleared up I was sort of thinking about an early night.”

“Do you know, I might do the same. I’m tired myself after loading up all those programs and files and such.”

And that is what we did. So, alright, I didn’t get a lot done on my second job but it’ll wait for tomorrow.

I closed my eyes, Dolly snuggled up against my legs, and off I drifted, to dream of potatoes and good rhubarb pie. Not a bad life at all, really. It could be worse. A lot worse.

 


Stickney, May 21,'05
I got a rug, I got plants, I got…
pencam photo


 

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