Number Two daughter went for a last rip-roaring outing with her friends last night, and in consequence was too ill to eat breakfast this morning.
Even the coffee smell was a bit much for her newly-delicate constitution, and after a few groans she just went back to bed.
We left her to it and went out with the dogs. The day was gorgeous, sunny and clear with a chill edge to the air, and we found some interesting fungus which Mark photographed in order that I could show you as part of this diary entry.
It is being the most perfect autumn so far, without any winds or sudden frosts to strip the leaves from the trees. The colours are an absolute joy: gold and ochre and scarlet and brilliant orange, filling the air with the sharp scents special to this time of year, exciting evidence of the changing season and the beginning hints of winter coming.
It was unfortunate that today was the day earmarked for cleaning, part of which involved a great deal of hoovering.
I had quite forgotten the slumbering presence of Number Two Daughter when I put ‘Godspell’ on at full volume to keep me company: it is one of my favourites, and always evokes lots of happy memories of behaving badly in my youthful days, when I worked in a theatre.
I sang along cheerfully at the top of my voice. I don’t have a particularly melodious singing voice, but it is really astonishingly loud, which makes people turn round and look at me during school carol services and similar events, and embarrasses the children, who can hear me over the top of all the other parents even from the other end of the chapel. I like singing, and so have learned not to mind this, and carry on at full volume unperturbed, although it might be a good thing not to live next door to.
After a while the Hoover, the washing machine, the music and the singing was joined by my half of the dogs barking his head off at a visitor, who had come to see Number Two Daughter.
This eventually roused her, yawning and complaining, and I had the very pleasant experience of pottering about the kitchen doing things and washing up and drinking coffee and chatting all at the same time, which is one of my very favourite ways of spending a day.
On re-reading that statement it occurs to me that it is completely untrue, my favourite ways of spending days rarely include housework, and always include wine and sunshine and somebody else’s cooking. However if I must do housework, which obviously I must from time to time, then good company and coffee make the process very pleasant indeed.
Our visitor was a retired taxi driver, so I had a lovely time listening to Number Two Daughter regaling him with stories of her international adventures and making him laugh, and telling taxi stories and making fudge to take with us on our holidays.
It was a new recipe for fudge which I have not tried before, and I am still not sure if it has worked or not, because I left it to cool and went to work. I think fudge should be tooth-squeakingly sweet and crunchy, I don’t think much of the oily varieties, but don’t know if I left it to boil for long enough. I suppose I could always put it back in the pan and try again if not, I will keep you posted.
In the end Number Two Daughter went out with another friend, presumably to see if she can replicate this morning’s discomfort tomorrow, and I went to work. I had polished and hoovered and dusted and scrubbed, and made fudge and tidied up and felt very pleased with my world.
When Mark got back from his camper van project he showed me some photographs of it with its new patches on it, which look lovely, although a bit reminiscent of the sort of quilt that you would put a rag doll to sit on the top of. If we make enough money before we go on holiday we will buy some paint, but if not then we will just have to not mind.
We had our usual swim and breathless ice plunge, and finished the evening on the taxi rank, which is where I am now. It has been a pleasing, albeit unexciting day, lots of small achievements and happy activities.
This makes for a contented life but a dull read. Regrettably misfortune and anxiety are much more thrilling to view in print.
Maybe I will have some of those another day.
LATER NOTE: The fudge was too sticky. I am going to boil it again tomorrow and see what happens.
1 Comment
I started to read this with alarm. From the picture it looked as if you had cut Mark’s ear off, and left it lying in the grass. I thought “Why has she done that? She could at least have taken it home again in case he needed it later.” On the other hand in view of all the singing perhaps he is better off with only one ear.