So, then. Pressing on…
Trouble is, it’s not been much of a day for pressing on with anything, not really it hasn’t. Cold, damp, dismal, and grey. A bit like being in a snow globe with the sulks on.
When, after a struggle, I groped my way to wakefulness it was with a minor, croaky curse. At 08:15 I was fifteen minutes late phoning the doctor’s appointment line.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing left today,” the nice lady said.
“Oh dear. What should I do?”
After going through a number of options I settled for a firm booking on Wednesday February 17, though I was advised to phone on Monday morning to see if there’s a cancellation to his daily bookings.
“If it’s a real emergency I’ll be able to do something better,” she said.
“Oh, no. Thanks. I’m not wanting to press the emergency button.”
And so I had a couple of cups of scalding hot coffee and three small slices of buttered toast. And another long look out of the window.
The day didn’t improve.
I had to slip outside shortly afterwards to move my car out of range of the scaffold removers next door, who were pulling down fittings, planks and selected poles with great aplomb and even greater bish bash bosh noise. I like to keep my car well out of the way of bish bash bosh.
And then I settled down to a long morning of grizzle and groan, gazing out at a wet, inhospitable world and wishing I still had my ankle-length waterproof Barbour stock coat and the big broad-beamed hat that went with it. I know it made me look like a portly old wally-man but it did let me out of the house for a little while in all weathers.
Lunch called for something from the comfort range so I knocked together oven-hot onion bagels with slices of Edam cheese, garnished with thick-sliced tomatoes and an artistic squiggle of generic salad cream, all dressed with fresh ground black pepper and sea salt. Nice, it was.
“You have a great dobble of salad cream on your chin. And another on your moustache,” said Graham, helpfully.
“Thanks. I’m saving them for later.”
Sorry your not feeling up to par, lay low, and take advantage of your ‘down-time’. That’s one of the good things about being retired, unless you have to go out…….you don’t.
Hmmm, sounds like you like your toast and tea, as do I
Now that was a good laugh shared by Jim and I – with visions of salad cream on your moustache and chin!
I was thinking you had a garage you kept your car in. Have I gone completely in among the bewildered?
No, there is a garage, but Graham has it filled with workshop things. He tells me I must be patient!
You need a two car garage.
If you had a two car garage, then one half could be filled with stuff and you could put your car in the other half.
We have a two car garage. Nancy always puts her car in one side and the other side is filled up with stuff. My car is in the driveway. One of the kids gets to park behind me in the driveway, the other one has to park on the street (except during snow storms) because Nancy needs to be able to drive her car out of the garage and down that side of the driveway.
I guess that means we should really have a five car garage?
“… another long look out of the window. The day didn’t improve.” You’re a genius of observation, John!
I do like this line!
A dreary Candlemas means an early spring, doesn’t it? We Yanks got the similar notion by way of the German settlers and their adoption of Groundhog Day as a substitute for the European hedgehog.
Hope you have a comfortable February with lots of chocolate at the mid-point.
I loved this batch of notes. I confess we bought our place just for the garage. If compressed, we could get three small cars in here. Instead we have two plus masses of stuff. Today will be better.