Wednesday November 9, 2005
Sitting outside Tesco’s waiting for Graham to return from a side trip I was enjoying the autumn sun, eyes closed, face held up to catch the rays. Then the edge of a large, heavy cloud covered the orb, a chill wind blew, and I felt the first blast of winter. You know it’s winter when the breeze turns nasty and doesn’t stop at your outer layer of clothing.
I heaved myself up, walked over to the little silver Ford and clambered in out of the wind.
“Come on,” said Graham when he joined me. “It’s turning cold out there. Let’s get back home in the warm.”
Now, it’s not yet the kind of cold that requires the heater to be turned up in the car, nor yet the kind that renders the house chill and unwelcoming when you return from a trip. But it’s a wintry cold, sneaky, demanding respect. And, so the weather forecasters are beginning to hint, a portent of a cold winter ahead. Time to check over the emergency heating and cooking gear that’s languished in the garage since we moved in. And the last garage. And the one before. Hasn’t been needed in earnest since we lived in Somerset.
Thinking that we’d be moving house, I’ve run my supply cupboard down and that’ll need replenishing, too. I reckon it’s quite safe to do so, and Graham agrees. It’s exceedingly unlikely that we’ll have any buyers along until the New Year now. Not impossible, but very unlikely. The positive side is that, from now until Spring, the house, well-lit, pleasant smelling, and warm tends to sell itself to any winter buyers, needing far less in the way of presentation effort. I shall get a couple of frozen ready-to-bake loaves of bread that can be popped in the oven at a moment’s notice.
It’s that time of year. Again.
I pulled the scale out this evening and weighed myself. Just as well that this was the day when I declared myself finally and completely over my cold because since it started, three weeks ago, I’ve lost very nearly seven pounds. Small wonder I’ve been experiencing these urgent hungers for atypically fattening foods. I may, normally, be a little overweight, but my body seems happy that way and doesn’t seem to enjoy drifting much lower. I doubt I’ll overshoot and go beyond my happy weight, but I’ll keep an eye on it, and take particular notice of the way my belt feels.
Now I have an urgent hunger for exercise and fresh air. And healthy food. I’ll need to wrap up and avoid the worst of the wet, but I’m itching to get out and about. Time to dig out my knitted woollen hat again.
There are a couple of special do’s this coming weekend down in Somerset, needing Graham’s attendance, but we’ve decided it’d be daft for Dolly and me to schlepp all the way there and back just for two days. So Graham will go down on the train, leaving Friday and returning Tuesday or Wednesday. If we continue with this line of thought it’ll be early to mid-December before we all go off for the Christmas lunches.
“Not sure whether to go tomorrow or on Friday,” Graham said when we discussed the detail.
“Will you get paid for Friday if you’re there all day?”
“Doubt it. There’s almost nothing to do.”
“Go on Friday, then. It’s silly to lose a whole day if you’re not going to get paid.”
“You’re right. Friday it is, then.”
“Good. An extra day in the warm will help you wipe out the last of your cough. And Dolly and I are only just getting used to you being around again.”
“Have you got food in for Thursday?”
“Oh, yes. Poached eggs on toast for lunch, and chicken for dinner, with spotted dick and custard to follow. We’ll not go short.”
“Sounds munchy. Can’t resist that.”
“I should jolly well think not.”