This morning for some unknown reason I put my hand into the pocket of a coat I thought I hadn't worn for months, and there were my missing lipsticks! I'm so happy to have them back. Whoever crept in in the night and placed them there - cheers.
I was very careful at bridge yesterday, keeping my hands off my face and washing them before I had my three chocolate digestives at breaktime. It seems to have worked, and I remain unsnuffy. I pondered other ways of keeping uninfected while touching 351 cards - we played 27 hands, nine tables. I thought of putting each card into a little see-through packet (I have yet to design and patent these), using rubber gloves the while before removing these once danger had passed. Wearing gloves throughout is a possibility, and then I could take these off to eat my biscuits. But gloves might be a bit cumbersome, and people might think I was weird. I could tell them I had OCD and it wasn't my fault. Or I could ask the guilty ones to wash their bloody hands.
This morning's paper tells us that a 20 minute walk every day promises a healthy old age, so I set off into the sun and wind with eager anticipation. For some time I've fancied pushing on to Bruisyard Church to examine the Saxon/Norman round tower overlooking the River Alde, so that was my destination. Do you start losing geriatric condition with every minute past the designated 20? The paper didn't say, but I decided to risk it. More excitement was in store. In a field at the bottom of the first hill was a dead muntjack, powerful haunches cleaned to the bone by, presumably, a fox, torso twisted right around, coat matted and coarse, ears shrivelled behind small stubby horns. It wasn't there the other day. What could have happened? I thought its throat looked slit, but what would have done that? Another mystery.
Bruisyard churchyard was filled with crocuses and snowdrops, the first I've seen and a very cheering sight. Inside the church my eyes were drawn to the memorial to six young men killed in the first world war. By the sounds of it few of their bodies were ever recovered and, especially poignantly, three of them died in October 1918. What terrible luck, to make it that far and then be killed. Sarah is determined to drag me to this pretty little church for a Sunday service, but she won't have to try very hard. The ancient walls, believed to date back in part to the 13th century, exude an atmosphere of serenity that I'll be happy to share with a handful of Christians.
Well! you must not have paid much attention to my response when you noted the 3 missing lipsticks - although I didn't actually say pocket(s), I did suggest "hidden in the lining"....of a coat, a pocket; whatever!!! Glad you found them; does this mean you have been lippie-less since you misplaced them? ugh!
ReplyDelete