I had a little rebellion today.
It was a routine thing, up, coffee and computer, ablutions, off to Sainsbury’s for what is to become our weekly shop (saving petrol & wear & tear) and home again.
‘Home again’ did it. I got to thinking how very circular and shut in this routine is making me feel. What with that and the cold (still with me, but much reduced) the homeward journey was quiet and thoughtful.
“Where are we going?” Graham asked.
“Home, of course.”
“No we’re not. We’re going to Carmarthen.”
“Oh, soddit. When did I take the wrong turning.”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t watching. Not to worry, we can take the next turning and come back.”
Which is what we did. Silence fell again for a little while until he asked: ”So, what’s up, doc?”
By the time we got home, perhaps twenty minutes later, we’d sorted it out. We’re going to aim for a weekly day off duty, out on a little trip if possible, but a break in the routine, giving me something new to anticipate.
That’ll make me feel a lot better, and get the juices running. We’ve promised to start next week. Monday shopping. Tuesday waiting in for the piano buyer to call and take the little darling away. Wednesday, out somewhere.
“I’ll make up a packed lunch and a big flask of coffee,” I said. ”And pack the folding table and chairs so’s we can sit on top of a convenient roadside heap of gravel.”
“It’s a date. Except for the gravel.”
“Oh, alright. I’ll give you the gravel.”
As we pulled onto the driveway we noticed we were having visitors:
Exotic visitors
“Not that I’ve been complaining, of course,” I said. ”A routine life that has peacocks in it isn’t all that bad.”
“You weren’t complaining. A rut is a rut, even with peacocks.”
“That’s all right, then. I shall still give you the gravel.”
