9:23 a.m. and all’s well here. Not much else to say than that. Dolly is sulking in a dark corner somewhere, trying to make Graham feel guilty for ruining her comfortable living room. Graham, when he’s not attempting to console Dolly, is dividing his time between Muse message boards and the scraping up of 30-year old Marley tiles from the living room floor. Me, long since immune to the whinings and moanings of the Mega-cat, I’m keeping warm, happy, and as out of the way as I can manage.
Like I say, all’s well here.
Dolorous. Isn’t that a grand word? Sonorous, rolls around the tongue and sounds like meringue would sound if meringue made a sound at all. Came into my head when I was searching for a way to start this entry, describing the day. Strange, though, because it means almost the exact opposite of my day. Dolorous the day was not.
On our return from our errands today Graham decided he needed a break from construction work and turned his hand to laundry instead. Dolly took a break from sitting with gritted teeth watching the construction work in progress and turned her attention to a good long doze on the bed. So long that, when she woke and came down to see what all the silence was about, she was stiff-legged and dizzy with sleep still.
“You’re supposed to wake yourself up with a bit of a grooming, Dolly,” I said. ”Not stagger about the house looking like a fur rug trying to imitate life.”
She just huffed and went to stand by the kitchen door until we let her out for a breather. Then she had a bit of a groom, groaned, and threw up a massive hair ball on the step.
I suppose you could describe that as being a bit dolorous if you were that way inclined. I didn’t, though. All I did was to tell her what a good girl she was, take a handful of kitchen tissue and dispose of the product of her groaning.
Me? I just meandered through my day, happy as can be, looking after and picking up after my companions. Doesn’t take much to make me happy, and I can’t be doing with dolorousity even at the worst of times.
No news is good news, they used to say. And this is a no news day. Perhaps I shall have something more to say for myself tomorrow. Just now, Dolly is flopped in a big patch of sunshine in the living room and I’m thinking of moving in there to flop in my armchair with a book until Graham demands: ”Is it lunch time yet?”
Hope your day is as quiet, happy and sun-filled as mine.
I was a bit hasty with my reference to a ‘Tufty Badge” yesterday, giving rise to a degree of puzzlement. Puzzle no more:
It’s funny how these old things stick around, becoming an essential part of family tradition.
Other than that it’s a lovely sunny day, which should never happen in Wales on a Sunday, there’s a nice little chicken sitting in the fridge all stuffed and dressed ready for the oven, and all’s well in our green and pleasant valley.
It’s hard to tell if I had a reaction to my seasonal ‘flu jab, yesterday afternoon, or if I’m still suffering the after effects of the digestive problem I reported yesterday morning. Either way it’s mild and nothing out of the ordinary. I have bad days. I have good days. I’ve learned to live with it.
I’m told that I will be called for my swine ‘flu jab some time in early December which is fine by me. I don’t like the idea of having two lots swimming around in my system at the same time.
It’s quiet in all other regards. Graham has washed all the windows. I’ve been noodling at a new poem. Dolly has decided it’s too chilly out for a self-respecting mega cat who’s been robbed of great clumps of her coat. And there’s a bloke across the road doing something noisy and protracted with a power tool of some kind.
Normal for Neath, I think it fair to say.