Sunday October 2, 2005
It was straightforward enough. I had six hours in which to get the house, and myself, ready for the viewers to arrive at 3:30 in the afternoon. So I paced myself, broke the job down into tasks, took a break between each of them, and was sitting outside the kitchen door enjoying the sun as they pulled up at the end of the drive.
Nice couple, early to mid-thirties I’d say, viewing the house on behalf of parents who live in Wales. They liked the house, asked all the right questions, thought it would suit the parents nicely, and said they’d recommend a viewing.
I paced my presentation reasonably well, too, though, after a home alone summer, I am inclined to chatter more than usual and a little more than is optimum for selling a house. I think we’re closer to a genuine sale now than we have been since putting the house on the market, but not close enough to take the champagne out of the fridge.
Anyway, job as well done as I can manage, I sat down again to enjoy the sun for a couple of minutes before going back inside to reassure Dolly and tell her that we were back to normal once more.
That was when the wearies hit me. Of a sudden, in the middle of a mug of coffee, I found my eyelids drooping and there was nothing for it but to fold the coverlet down and slip gratefully into bed for a late afternoon nap. This time I’d earned it.
I slept long and heavy, and woke around 7:00 to a darkening house and a very puzzled Dolly. And I was ravenously hungry.
I knocked a nice dinner together—thick-cut ham, bubble & squeak, tomato salad and baked beans, followed by a pot of black cherry yoghurt—and enjoyed it greatly.
Half-an-hour later, sitting at the computer and pretending to write, the wearies crept over me again.
And so, as good old Samuel would put it, to bed.
 bubble & squeak — a pan-fried hash of potato, cabbage and onion.