Snow day

Sunday April 16, 2006

10 days to M-day

“I’m on strike today, Dolly,” I said. “If it was snowing, I’d designate today as a snow day.”

She’d had her breakfast, performed a distinctly perfunctory lick-and-promise toilette in the middle of the kitchen floor, then waddled off to her daytime snoozing place on an armchair in the living room. She gave me a bit of a glare, snuggled up, and got set to sleep her way through the morning.

“If that chair was big enough I’d join you,” I said. “You look real cosy there, even if you are surrounded by cardboard boxes.”

No further response emerged so I got myself together, did my morning chores, and settled in my old rocking chair to bask in the sun from the study window. The sun shone, the radio whispered Mozart from the other room, and… I woke a good while later at the command of the phone.

 


 
Old rocking chair in the sun

 

“What are you doing today?” Graham asked.

“I’m on strike today. I’ve about had it with all this moving stuff.”

“Much left to do?”

“No. Grass to cut, and windows to do, then I’m finished apart from a quick clean before you come home next Sunday. I don’t feel like doing any of it today, though.”

“Put your feet up, then, and leave it all until tomorrow.”

“You gottit.”

Putting the phone down, I peered at the clock. A bit early for lunch, and too late for breakfast… just right for brunch, though. So I fixed myself some scrambled egg on toast and munched it happily in the sun at the dining room table. When I’d put the dishes in the machine and wiped the surfaces over I felt that old black magic called sloth creeping over me once more so I wandered off in the general direction of bed, calling in to check on Dolly as I passed.

“You look tired after all that sleep, luv,” I said. “Wanna come through for a snuggle?”

Which is what we did, for almost all the remains of the day.

Truth to tell, I really have about had it with this moving game. To an extent, I’ve about had it with Lincolnshire now as well. It’s not my county any more and its charm has faded for me. I am tired, weary to the bone almost, but I’m impatient to get back home to Somerset.

Can’t wait to get stuck in to the job of hunting down that little old house at the end of the lane that’s firmly fixed in my head despite the obvious advantages of living in a nice new villa on a nice new development. I’ll settle for either, and be happy, too, but it’s that little old house that I really want.

And when I get there, wherever ‘there’ is, the very first time it snows, even if it’s only the teeniest hint of snow, I’m going to declare a snow day. Rather a lot of snow days, hopefully.

 

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