Friday March 10, 2006
The day started out bright and sunny, which was good. Although it went on slowly to cloud over and, at times, turn to drizzle, it stayed mild, and that was good, too. Over and above it all, the air tasted sweet and full of the promise of Spring, and that was really good.
The bounce and smile in our lives that’d deserted us yesterday returned to normal, and that was best of all.
“What will you do today?” Graham asked.
“Oh, Tesco’s. You?”
“I’ll stay home and get on with packing up the stuff in the garage. Boring, but it’s got to be done.”
“You’re a hardworking and industrious little person.”
“Thanks. Don’t forget my Jaffa Cakes.”
I set off good and early, after the morning rush hour but in time to do the trip and get back for lunch with time to spare.
Roadside crocus colonies have been rained off, but the snowdrops seem to be thriving, growing denser and denser. And, hooray, I saw my first daffodil bud. Firmly closed still but ready to leap into life one day very soon. Won’t be long now.
I count the snowdrops as a gentle smile, starting off the year, and the daffodils as a good, wide grin, making a claim for cheerfulness that’s unassailable. Later on, the first roses represent a quiet, joyful laugh, announcing summer and the start of the long, lazy days that I love so much.
Back home I handed over the provision bags for Graham to store away, pointing out the triple-pack of Jaffa Cakes along with the bottle of wine as needing special handling.
“Did you get yourself a treat, too?”
“Nope, not really. I had a fancy for ice-cream but decided against. Stick one of those yoghurt pots in the freezer for me and I’ll nosh it when I feel the need.”
“Fair enough. Put the kettle on, please. Packing garage stuff is dry old work.”
Standing in the front window, mug of coffee in hand, I looked out over a wet world, the fine drizzle having moderated towards a steady light rain for a while.
“That pond is almost full to the top now, Dolly,” I observed.
She was sitting on the windowsill, occupied in much the same non-industrious activity as me, though she’d passed on the coffee. Her response to my remark was to flop over, stick her feet in the air, and glare at me until I gave her a good tummy-scratch.
“Lawks, Dolly,” I said. “You could do with a jolly good brush and comb job.”
“Why don’t you do that while I get a bit more garage stuff done before lunch,” Graham suggested.
Which is what I did.