Day 222

Friday evening and I have a banging head. It has not been the simplest of weeks to say the least.  Darren walks in with a box of Matchmakers and I smile, desperately. His response is: “they’re for Christmas”

WHAT? It’s freaking October.

In addition to this, he has also brought home the Crimbo decs.  Again, I am thwarted as he quickly mentions “just to make more room in the garage.”

I secretly eat a packet of fizzy rainbow belts and sulk, switching on “Escape to the Chateau” so I can dream about living in a castle.  Think how many Christmas trees I could have in that!

*****

So, why am I relying on sugary treats to get me through?  Well, following my week of tyre dramas and shenanigans….

Our Friday morning begins with an appointment in Bournemouth and although everyone is wearing masks, I am uncomfortable being out of my little village.  I feel safer in the quiet of the countryside, where there are more dogs and horses than there are people.

I am a tad paranoid, so my hands are dry from copious amounts of hand gel, and even though I am stood outside, I wear my elasticated face covering until we get back to the car.  It is a relief to take the mask off to be honest, as it feels too big and pokes the underside of my eyeballs.  It’s not that I have a particularly small face, I think it is just the wrong shape for me.  It is then that I have an epiphany.  I turn it 180 degrees and realise the chin area of the mask is actually for my nose.  I have been wearing it upside down for weeks, what a fool!

 

On the way home we pop into the garage where we bought my car last year, in the hope that they have a master unlocky thing for the wheel nuts.  After what seems like hours, and several confusing conversations with different departments, we walk away with a little plastic suitcase of new nuts, the accompanying key…and £39.00 lighter.

My jaw unclenches as we walk back to the forecourt and the edgy feeling starts to dissipate as soon as we shut the car doors.  Now time to sanitise everything I own.

Including my phone.

During our visit I was desperate for a wee and had to brave the staff toilet. The floor was pretty rank and I held my breath the whole time, utilising the strength in my gladiator thighs to hover over the loo seat. It was at this point that my phone slid out of my back pocket (schoolgirl error).  It was like slow motion as I tried to balance and reach out to grab it, whilst keeping my clothes from touching anything. It hit the grubby tiles with a crash and I had to pause mid-stream to pick it up and hold it under the hand dryer (hoping to God that the air was hot enough to kill anything that may be lurking).

After the adrenaline rush of phone-gate, I am bloody starving.  I mention to Darren that there is a KFC at the end of the road.  It piques his interest, particularly because it means I will be fed and thus less grumpy.   “Just a burger for me though, it’s only 11:30” he says.  I raise one eyebrow and stare at him as I order a full meal avec fizzy drink.  “I haven’t had any breakfast.  Don’t judge me” and I allow him to swipe 3 of my chips.

On our way out of Parkstone we come to a stop at the traffic lights.  We look around at the houses and discuss the smallholding and cottage we will one day own (positive thinking), when all of a sudden, Darren spots a pigeon and a squirrel engaging in a rather physical disagreement on someone’s front lawn.  I watch in amazement, half-worried about what potential injuries these creatures might fare, and half-amused by this cross-species fracas.

 

My money was on the squirrel

 

 

So that was my Friday adventure and now I am hunkered down in front of the telly, waiting for my dinner and thinking about where to put the Christmas tree this year….

*****

Saturday is grey and drizzly.  We have a socially distanced walk and indulge in a delicious slice of cake at a little café.  I then potter around the house and do a bit of baking (because one slice of cake is not enough) and by 4pm I am under a blanket, with my hot water bottle, watching Home Alone 2.

I am feeling a little blah.

My back is hurting and I’m chilly.  Lying here, lights on and curtains closed, I think about the upcoming season.  Winter is going to be weird this year: working at home all day, and then staying in the same room all evening because it is too dark/cold/rainy/windy/generally rubbish to go out.  There will be no more fresh tomatoes from the vine, or lettuces from the trough by the front door.  I have packed away my “Summer” wardrobe and flip flops, and the clocks go back tonight.

I’ve sorted out two bags of my clothes for charity and we have moved the furniture around three times this month (Darren is a patient man).  What’s left to do?  The fish are so over me being around every day. They don’t even pretend to be interested when I walk into the kitchen any more, unless it is 5pm and their dinner time.

It will be Christmas in a little over seven weeks.  It’s unlikely we will be able to mingle indoors, clinking glasses of bubbly and exchanging presents, so I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be watching boxsets and eating roast dinners from mid-Nov until the end of January.

When I say it out loud, it actually doesn’t sound that bad!

Darren finds me lying prone on the couch and convinces me to walk over to the shop to get lottery tickets and something for dinner.  We wrap up and grab a torch, stepping into the darkness.  It is cloudy and there is hardly a star in the dark blue sky.  I can taste the cold air, icy and damp, and there is a reassuring smell of smoke from local wood-burning fires.  Only our eyes are showing when we put on our masks to enter the shop.  We pick up a variety of random items on our way down the aisles, leaving with a bag of weekend snacks, a small pumpkin, garlic and mozzarella flatbread (for me), Microwave burger (for Darren) and some chocolate Digestives.

Halfway home my phone rings and it registers that I have missed the start of a Whatsapp catch up with my friends.  In a rush to get the lottery in time, it completely slipped my mind! We leg it back to the farm and I cosy up on the sofa (again) for an hour and half, whilst Darren passes me garlic bread, biscuits and a cheeky can of cloudy cider at intervals. We laugh, chat and I forget about the cold Winter nights drawing in.

My cheeks are warm from the cider and my tummy is full.  It is Saturday night, so we ask Alexa to play some nineties tunes and I treat Darren to a rendition of Whigfield’s “Saturday Night”, dance routine and all (albeit a downplayed version on account of my back issues).

Settling down to a game of Scrabble, heating on and fluffy socks on my feet, I kind of feel OK that Winter is on its way.