Tuesday February 21, 2006
I dreamt last night that we were living in, and I was writing about “The little old house at the end of the lane.” Vivid, it was, and entirely pleasant. If only real life were as simple.
Today, in response to my urge to continue with the declutter, we gathered up a load of crappy from the garage, popped it into the back of the car, and drove over to Skegness so’s we could dump it at the recycling depot, take a pass through the supermarket and, possibly a turn around the town.
It was a shivery old day, and we rain checked the turn around the town by mutual consent. Indeed, at my request, we kept the supermarket task down to a bare minimum, too.
“I don’t feel up to this today,” I said. “Seem to have left my brain at home in the warm.”
“Know what you mean. Shall we go off to join it?”
“Please. But I want a cup of coffee first.”
“Right you are.”
A slug of strong black coffee restored me nicely and off we went home to pick up my errant brain.
Truth to tell, I wasn’t feeling up to par this morning and, by lunch time, was wondering if I’d caught Graham’s cold/URTI at last. Might have been the case but if so a hot meal and a good doze seem to have done the trick of allowing my system to fight it off. I put my resistance down very largely to my annual ‘flu jab but the fact is that after a lifetime of infections, major and minor, there is some residual resistance in the oldster’s system to very many ‘new’ strains of these things as they come around. If backed by a healthy diet and exercise regimen the immune system is a capable beast.
I’ve heard that the anticipated ‘flu pandemic, if it emerges, is more likely to hit people in the middle of their life than the elderly who are liable to have some resistance from past encounters. Doesn’t seem entirely fair to me, but I ain’t complaining.
During the afternoon, just before I went off for my nap, the agent called. Same bloke as yesterday, and no better at customer management than before. I restrained myself and listened carefully to his story, which identified a small glitch a little further down the mercifully short chain, concerning a tree that needs to be removed before a mortgage is released. Nothing to be done about it except to wait on developments. Graham will call our buyer tomorrow to seek assurance that they are still keen, and still hopeful for a successful deal. He’s better at that than I am.
“I don’t think we’ve any cause to worry,” Graham said. “Just a matter of keeping our eye on the ball.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “But worry is something I do rather well, always have, and I’m not about to quit now.”
“Oh, go off and have your nap. You’ll feel better about it all for a good nap.”
My eyelids were drooping heavily at that stage, and the need to sleep swiftly overcame my need to worry. Sure enough, when I woke, not only my minor encounter with the family bug had been fought and won but I was feeling a lot better about the house sale, too.
We’ll ride it out. No alternative, really.
After dinner we sat down to watch Wallace and Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Marvellous what a good, protracted giggle does for the restless soul.