It’s the four year anniversary of His Lordship Malarkey and myself moving to Damson Cottage! Four years! Where did that time go, eh? The weather, four years ago, was far more clement than it was today, that’s for sure. I remember driving along various motorways, a huffing and puffing Flora in a cat carrier on the passenger seat, windows wide open to get some breeze into the car, and inadvertently ending up on the M6 Toll road because a lorry blocked my view of the correct exit for bog standard M6. A blessing in disguise, as it turns out, because the traffic was lighter and our journey a half an hour at least shorter.
Today, it has been chilly, a bit breezy, a bit rainy spitty, and Flora has not needed to huff and puff because heat there has been none. You’ll be pleased also to know that the £20 top up I added to my mobile phone for the journey has STILL not run out!
Of course, Damson Cottage has changed beyond recognition from the place we arrived at. It has slowly morphed into the countryside home that was once little more than a dream for us. One more room to sort out, which would have been done by now if the game of Covid-19 hadn’t stopped play, but at least the garden has enjoyed our attentions instead. The room won’t take long to renovate; the image is already in my mind. It’s a bedroom and it’s not a big space. With the aid of the installation of a daybed it is going to become a cross between a living space and a guest bedroom. Blues and whites. Light and bright. Overlooking the wisteria as it spreads its way across the soon-to-be installed pergola. Views up the garden. Peaceful. Quiet. Except when those bloody cockerels start hooting and tooting.
And I think I have morphed, too. I’m less inclined to suffer fools. Less inclined to be told what to do. More a captain of my own ship, now, more able to say ‘No’ when others are saying ‘Yes’. Able to recognise what is important, what is of value. I met with an old and cherished friend today, someone I’ve not seen for 13 years, and she said, ‘You’ve really grown into yourself.’ And I understood what she meant.
Today, I broke a rule. It was very liberating. Obstinate, headstrong girl! It has given me a taste for more bucking of the trends of my life. But perhaps that is what happens to all women when they reach ‘a certain age.’
Mrs Alice Swallow has hunkered down on her nest! I am guessing now she is incubating eggs. I creep into the laundry on tiptoe, head bowed, voice all a-whisper, and she eyeballs me over the lip of her cupola home. A gang of baby blue tits and a gang of baby sparrows take it in turn to run amok in the courtyard, darting in and out of the bay tree, occasionally meeting in the middle for a ‘peep off’, like Montagues versus Capulets, Sharks versus Jets. We eagerly await the cheeping that will signal the arrival of blackbird babies in the wisteria...
The greenhouse is gradually being taken over by triffid tomatoes...
I’ve spent some time rearranging and tidying my end of the arty crafty studio...found some long forgotten fabric that will be perfect for a pair of palazzo trousers...
My brain is clicking and ticking with ideas of ‘Clive and Min’...
Work has been brilliant this week...
After weeks of feeling bogged down and stifled by these strange times, I can feel the wings of a new freedom itching at my back...
0 Yorumlar