I have rashly invited my mother-in-law to lunch tomorrow, and remembered afterwards that she is the sort of person who doesn’t eat bread.
Since I don’t eat lunch anyway, and if I did it would almost certainly be cheese on toast, this has left me feeling contemplative.
She is coming along with a friend who is getting over a hip replacement operation. I have no idea if the friend has any interesting dietary quirks, and forgot to ask.
When I explained it to Mark on the telephone later, he recommended that we all transfer to the bistro across the road, which caters for everything and has the distinct advantage of serving gin.
I am contemplating this as well. For some reason I would feel completely comfortable, if a bit bold and rascally, having a gin and tonic were I to be having my lunch in a cafe, but unutterably louche and disreputable if I were to slosh one out with cheese on toast in the conservatory in the middle of the day.
Unless it was Christmas, obviously, or unless the children were visiting, although in these cases it would probably be a single malt.
I do not know why this might be.
I am considering my life choices. I will let you know what happens.
In other news, the kitten is eating its head off. I wondered briefly if it might have worms, but its poo is the wrong colour so I think probably it is just ravenous. It has eaten and eaten and eaten, after which it passed out in the sunshine on the windowsill of my office, only waking to complain vociferously when the sun went in. Indeed, it has composed the title for today’s entry. I started writing in a spare five minutes before work, but had to hasten away from the computer due to lots of things that I should have done but hadn’t, and when I resumed on the taxi rank, it was to discover that somebody had been helpfully standing on the keyboard in my absence.
Hence today’s entry has been named by the kitten. The kitten itself is still nameless. I am having something of a creativity failure, and have put it on my list of things to think about when I have some spare time.
We have had sunshine today, in between bursts of snowy hail, and my walk this morning, whilst bright and hopeful, was accompanied by a freezing wind that sliced into my newly exposed ears, because I have had my haircut now. I could barely stand up on the top of the fell, and the dogs hurtled around, barking and leaping on top of one another.
I was not at all sorry to get back home, although, very bravely in my opinion, I spent some time splitting firewood in the back yard before I went indoors. This is always a rewarding thing to do, because it doesn’t really involve very much effort, but has instant, satisfying results. Also it makes the log pile look fuller, despite being not in the least changed really. I have got anxious eyes on the log pile, because a warm house is a wonderful thing to have, and despite the fact that we are almost in April, it is terribly cold. I am going to have to have a day sawing firewood this week, although probably not tomorrow, circular saws are not a good idea when you have been drinking gin.
My time was my own after the firewood, not that it isn’t my own all the time anyway, but I had a space in my conscience, and I wasted a wonderful, idle half an hour drinking tea and gassing to my friend in the computer, the modern world is a wonderful place. We are going together to Glyndebourne in the summer, and I am looking forward to it very much indeed.
After that I had to rush round tidying up. I have been doing little bits to my upholstery project every day, and the conservatory was cluttered with scissors and tape measures and other useful detritus, which is not terribly welcoming when I am expecting visitors.
I have cut the first fabric for the headboard now. This is both thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. I measured and marked, then measured and marked again, noting with resignation that the second marks were nowhere near the first ones, but in the end I found the courage to cut it, and I will do the second piece tomorrow.
Or maybe the day after.
Precision measurement is another thing better not done after you have been drinking gin.
