Well, it's official: I'm a slut. I haven't touched an iron in more than a month, and my pyjamas and shirts have been worn as the good lord intended - creased. But yesterday I hit an all-time low, and used fresh but unironed bedding. It hurt to put it on, so scrunchy was the brilliant white cotton, so scored with lines. It's got to be a first and a last. I usually get a high from seeing the newly made-up bed, all smooth and crisp and virginal, such a beautiful sight. But you know what? It didn't stop me sleeping like a baby. As soon as I can do more than stagger under the weight of a dahlia leaf I'll get down to the mountain and clear the backlog.
I heard the farmer out cutting the hedges this morning, and got ready to ambush him. Normally he cuts the field side of my long hedge, but this year I wanted him to trim the top too, back to where it was chopped down last year. He's a very obliging chap, and I had a tenner in my pocket anyway as a thank you. But no, he said, wouldn't be going into the fields now the weather has changed and the ground is so wet. Just sticking to the lanes now. Maybe if we get a frost, but otherwise it'll have to wait until next year. I gawped at him stupidly. We've had the driest autumn on record (my record) and he waits until the rain comes? I collected myself. Well, I replied, if are able to do it come and give me a knock and I'll see you right (two forefingers rubbing against thumb barra-boy style). Will do, he said with a grin. Pillock.
Sammy just rang to tell me she was in the process of booking tickets for Suffragette, and did I qualify for the senior rate? Oh how I laughed. She's just turned 70 and looks 55, but me? After 3 weeks of flu and a hard, hard life I would easily pass for 80. But she was serious! And last Sunday Richard, a fellow usher, made a beeline for me again, kissed me ignoring all of his other colleagues, and asked if he could sit next to me. It's all very flattering, but quite ridiculous. Are they all blind?
No comments:
Post a Comment