Monday July 10, 2006
“Right,” said Graham, settling back in the car after loading the carpet shampoo machine into the boot. “Off to work?”
“Hey ho. Hey ho. It’s off to work we go.”
“Oh do shut up and drive. You have a dreadful habit of finding banal songs to match innocent remarks.”
“Sorry,” I said, slipping car into first gear. “I was made that way. Can’t help it.”
“And you needn’t think you can hide behind obscure references, either. Goodness knows what’s in that head of yours.”
“Honey, goodness had nothing to do with it.”
And off we went to Bridgwater. I’d contracted with myself to finish preparing the walls on the ground floor, and Graham had promised himself he’d deep clean the carpets on the first and second floors, and both staircases.
We hoth of us fulfilled our promises and, after a long hard day, packed our stuff in the car and went to rejoin Dolly in the caravan for a pleasant family evening.
Somewhere along the line I produced a well-chilled bottle of White Zinfandel. “Fancy a snorter?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, I do. Tell you what, though. Let’s go for a walk along the cliffs before we settle down with it.”
And that’s what we did. A late evening walk, a bottle of a really tasty, fruity wine with a dinner of garlic-roasted chicken is enough to round off any day, and especially a good, laughter-filled one that gets jobs done, takes in a sunset, and leaves you feeling that perhaps the world isn’t sliding into chaos after all.
Sunset, West Quantoxhead