Blowin' in the Wind

It's a gorgeous day so far, fluffy high clouds scudding along in the strong wind with the sun so warm I had to take my jacket off to rake up the leaves. Tomorrow the men are coming to cut down my hedge by several feet. I had hoped they'd get here before the gales stripped the trees bare but alas not: according to the weather forecast they are due later tonight. It doesn't matter. I just pray that an emergency doesn't occur in the meantime - trees across roads requiring their removal would be the most likely - to prevent them coming at all.

Five slates missing from the left

We had a really lovely day yesterday, mostly just the two of us. If you had told me four years ago that I would revel in such a day I would have glared at you with blazing eyes and told you not to be ridiculous. What could anyone else possibly know about loneliness, in my case the irrational fear of abandonment? Desentisization therapy works by gradual introduction to and eventual emersion in the thing you fear, and I suppose this is exactly how it happened for me. I wasn't suddenly alone, and I had massive support when I did move into my own house. To begin with I obsessively organised every weekend, the thought of one without company just too horrifying to contemplate. To my amazement I don't mind now, most of the time. Tony came early to affix the stones to the edge of the pond. A few of them kept sliding in when Hugo bent down for a drink in the summer, and they allowed earth to seep through as well when the rains were heavy. I had emptied the pond and cleared the space with Ruth's help, the stones neatly arranged on the grass. How was it then that when Tony came to put them in place there weren't enough? From photographs I counted exactly the same number. Misterioso. I dashed off to the garden centre I bought them from but they had sold out. Bleedin' typical! But it's OK, chillax, they will be in again in a few weeks and Tony will return to finish the job.

Can we go now, pleeeeeze?

Well, I'm off

When he'd gone we pithered and pottered, some ironing got done, some Italian was revised, and some cooking was conjured, the heating making the house cosy and the sun still shining until it was time for a late afternoon walk. With light rain falling and strong winds blowing we both wrapped up well and set off across the fields. Hugo ignored the mild confines of his red coat to charge after a hare, a nimble, speedy one this time, and he was gone for nearly half an hour. Back home, I got in the car to hunt him down when I spotted him creeping along the farm track. Oh, we were pleased to see each other. He hadn't been in danger, running away from where any traffic might be. Without stopping to check how muddy he was I shoved him into the boot with three huge bags of compost, slammed the lid down and hurried home. He was too exhausted to protest. Once he was clean, dry and fed we hunkered down in front of the woodburner, thorougly relaxed. A very nice day indeed.

I listened to Ali Smith on Desert Island Discs this morning. I don't know exactly why but I found her story terribly moving. As she finished I realised that, of all the people I have admired during my life, she is the one I would most like to be. She's a genius, but it's not just that. She truly lives life, and she lives life truly. You can't say that about many people.