The kitchen is full of wonderful smells. Spicy smells. Bert is making curry. And I am knitting.
There is other news about Bert - a good thing that came from a not-so-good thing. About a month ago we both had the coronavirus, Bert was much sicker than me, possibly because he neglected to take a booster jab in the Autumn. He threw up for days and was unable to eat, losing ten pounds. During this time he didn't smoke. When he started to feel a little better I tentatively suggested that as he had been without nicotine for more than a week it might be a good thing if he took the opportunity to break the habit. He said,
We'll see.
And I thought, let it be his decision. I won't push it.
A month later and he has still not smoked. He is starting to think of himself as someone who has given up. which is very positive.
Of course, by now, that ten pounds has rolled back on - a good thing as he's on the slim side already. His appetite has improved and he is taking a great interest in baking and cooking. He is very self-critical of the results - the other night his fairy cakes didn't rise but his shortbread was delicious. He is devoted to Mary Berry and wonders why I use butter when Mary is all about margarine and I tell him to wise up, that was then and this is now and that's a really old book and I bet she never shouted for marge on the Great British Bake Off.
An Interlude
He shouted that dinner is served and it was delish and then we watched Happy Valley which was great and I am looking forward to watching it again tomorrow with Deirdre and Dmitri, fresh back from Lisbon, reunited with Lulu and cannot get iPlayer in lovely Leitrim.
Re the photo. I'm taking a picture of the current project every morning. It is not a giant hat, it is the bottom part of a multi-coloured stripey jumper.
Well - I had a child, another on the way, several hundred books, a bed, a toybox full of toys (but that wasn't mine) and a couple of chairs.
Word soon got out that I was in need of household effects and furnishings and friends rallied around to help. I soon had more furniture and bits and pieces than I needed. I never said no and that is a habit I have to this very day.
The house sorted, I began on the garden. I'd never had my own garden before and I was very excited. With help from my father, I began to create a lawn for the children to play on. It was hard work breaking the soil, getting the stones and builder's rubble out and raking and finishing. At last, Daddy pronounced it ready for sowing and gave me a plastic bag of grass seed. I scattered, sowed and waited with mounting anticipation.
It wasn't long before the first green shoots appeared. At first, it was only a light green haze but as the days progressed it became greener and greener. My father came to look at it. There were a lot of areas where the seed hadn't taken. He said, "Don't worry. They'll fill in."
The grass continued to grow. It actually started to look quite lush. Except... except it didn't really look like grass. Daddy said, "Redshank." I was very disappointed. My first attempt at sowing a lawn and I had created a weed patch. A lush and green weed patch but a weed patch all the same. I asked my father what I should do. He said, "Just cut them back, don't let them flower, the grass will come through."
I didn't even have garden shears so I tackled my weed patch with the kitchen scissors. It took a long time and I got blisters. But the grass came through just like Daddy said. Of course, the kitchen scissors proved impractical when that needed cutting and I acquired garden shears from somewhere and used them to keep the grass in check. To tell the truth, it was never much of a lawn but it was good enough for my children to play on.
Nowadays I have a lawn and a ride-on mower and a man to cut the grass for me. It's not the best lawn in the world but it's certainly good enough for my grandchildren to play on.