Unravelled

I moved a few hundred logs from where I'd tossed them last week to clear space for the compost bin, to their new semi-permanent site in a walled alcove. They are a year old now, the result of felled and reduced trees in the garden and along the tall hedge. They can join the main collection in the woodshed in a year or two when they've weathered and dried out. I'm quite pleased to have such a nice collection of free fuel, though I paid to have them cut down in the first place.

While Val worked in the front garden removing two horrible big succulent plants which she loves and I loathe, the sun came out and I decided to quickly mow the lawn. I had an hour or so to go before I had to dash off to meet Sammy for a live screening of Aida from Sidney Harbour, so I threw myself at it and got around with time to spare. My plan was to have supper at Waitrose, do a bit of shopping and then zip off to the cinema. But it all went terribly wrong. I ordered a lasagne - "won't be more than a few minutes" promised the assistant, and so I sat looking at the crossword instead of doing my shopping while I waited. Twenty five minutes later, by which time I was a nervous wreck, a nasty, shrivelled, burnt offering appeared at my table under the guise of lasagne, next to a nice fresh salad. They offered to get me another one but I was too hungry and too late by then, so I ate what I could of it anyway and they refunded the price. I had to buy a packet of crisps to stave off the stomach pangs. By now the queues for check-out were long, so I grabbed what I could carry and staggered to the basket-only counter. And outside the rain hammered down, bounced off the ground, like a monsoon. Crawling along over lanes turned to lakes on an empty stomach stuffing crisps, shaking sodden hair out of my eyes and trying not to skid, I could have wept. But there was Sammy at the cinema, glasses of wine in hand, having booked the luxury seats with tables between them, masses of leg room and 100% clear view of the screen.

It was wonderful, the soprano Latonia Moore and the mezzo Milijana Nikolic beyond glorious. I counted at least six genres in this extremely flambuoyant production - but it IS Aida - including Star Wars, Colonel Gadaffi uniform fettishism, Follies Bergeres, Hair, Nazi supremacism and revivalist Pharaoh chic. But it all made for an interesting spectacle and the music was perfect. In bed later I decided to count Verdi operas, but couldn't get beyond 10 though I couldn't stop trying. And so my ravell'd sleeve of care was not knitted, and I woke this morning feeling like a sleepy elephant. I still do. Just call me Nellie.

So, Nellie and Helen went off to the White Horse at Badingham for the fabulous pensioner's lunch (she didn't quite qualify but they didn't ask) and when I came back home in the rain and cold there was only one thing to do. Here it is: