Monday August 15, 2005
Oh, gosh, but it was hard to get going when I woke this morning. All slow and creaky, I was, and not a little bloated. Nothing wrong, just slow.
“Eeek, Dolly!” I called when I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. “If they came along right now they’d probably certify me as dead!”
Actually, Dolly didn’t look much better, all mussed up and sleepy eyed. And grumpy. At least I escaped the grumpies.
“Come on, girl, let’s have a bite of brekkie and then I’ll go for a stroll to get me juices flowing.”
Half an hour later I was bubbling happily once more.
It was all down to yesterday’s hard labour, of course, and sedentary activities. I slept hard and long, and it’s no surprise, really, that it took a while to wake up and get into gear today. I don’t often sleep so well.
Walking along the lane at first light is a joy. The air is clean, there’s a heavy dew, and most days the only life to be seen apart from the birds are a couple of startled foxes and one or two lucky rabbits. Lucky because they’d not met up with the foxes, that is. Today being a working day a couple of utility trucks came beetling down the lane to meet and pass me, driven by a drowsy farm-worker off to start work. They looked almost as startled to see me as the foxes but at least they waved back.
Should have taken my camera with me of course. I’m going through a can’t-be-bothered [actually, that ‘bothered’ is a translation, insert the expletive of your choice if you will] phase with the camera. Nothing new there. Looking back through old journals there are many intervals when the camera seems to have been left at home. I always regret it but there you go.
Home, and a bit of a house cleaning and tidy, just in case, and then the day settled into my normal routine—reading, thinking, and listening to music. I finished Harry Potter the day before yesterday and have started on Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan, having been greatly impressed by the movie the other night.
It’s alright, I’m not going to issue any spoilers here on Harry Potter. Enough to say that it’s a wonderful, exciting read, and finishes on a real cliff-hanger, with the future wide open for a total wham-dinger of a finale in the next book, reported to be the last of the series. I wasn’t overly keen on the previous book. Seemed tired and stodgy to me, and I never did finish it. Ms Rowling gets it all back together in this one, though, with interest.
Then, after lunch and just as I was settling into my nap, the telephone rang and along came the big news story of the day.
Shortly after that I was texting with Graham:
DON'T WANT TO WORRY YOU, BUT I THINK WE HAVE A HOT BUYER ON THE HOOK ++ EEEEK! TELL ME MORE! ++ TOO COMPLICATED TO TEXT. ANY CHANCE OF A FIVE MINUTE CHAT? ++
Seconds later the phone rang. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? I told him the story, took his advice on the way I should tackle it, and left him to get on with his working day. Then, when I’d slurped a coffee, I went out into the failing light to cut the grass. It was quite heavy going with the extra growth stimulated by the past couple of days rain but it was dry enough for my little electric mower. I’m not sure I made too good a job of cleaning the mower afterwards because it really was getting dark by then. No matter. I’ll check it over tomorrow to make good any ommission.
Job done, I sat outside the kitchen door, can of cold beer in my hand, and cooled off while watching the last of the swallows cleaning the sky before the bats come out for their evening meal.
Oh, the story? Well, it seems, so the agent said, that the daft old lady, or “Lookey Lou”, from the other day has been thinking about it, and discussing it with her daughter, and has decided that it’d be foolish to pass over the chance of a lovely house “in such a beautiful place with the fields and all” just because the door opens straight into the kitchen. “It’d be easy to fix.”
Anyway, she wants to view again tomorrow, daughter in tow—though I suspect it’s actually the other way round.
I do believe that my Lookey Lou [love that expression] has turned into a Buying Bessie. I have a feeling about it. Graham does, too, and his feelings are generally more reliable than mine on these matters.
I shall most certainly do my best to be charming and helpful tomorrow, pointing out the optimum place for a second door into the house—there was one originally, opening into what is now the dining room—and saying, truthfully, that we had considered opening it up ourselves but soon came to realize that the house works best with just the one door.
We shall see. I reckon things are moving, though, at last, and we’re beginning to make serious plans for another winter in a caravan at St Audries.
Graham says if I buy a new mobile phone, which I need in any case, along with a cheap lap-top from Dell, I’ll be able to keep the journal going while we’re there. That’d be good. I didn’t much enjoy sitting at a terminal in the Somerset libraries writing email journal last time we wintered in a caravan. I shall look at the ‘moblog’ possibility, too, which would be good for photographs but probably not for the words. It’s all about the words, when I come down to it.