#Adulting

I don’t know about you, but although I want to look and feel healthier, more toned and svelte….food calls me like the ocean calls Moana.

Me:  I will probably sleep better and feel better if I just get up, do my stretches, have breakfast, wash my face, do some affirmations and then start work.

Also me:  I’m knackered and it’s cold so I’m eating banana bread for breakfast and working from my duvet.

A more “plump” look, however, was useful for playing a drunken maiden in the village’s St George’s Day play.  It was also a good excuse to drink cider from a tankard (I am, after all, a method actor).  Mind you, once I started, I couldn’t help but speak in a ye olden day Dorset accent for the rest of the afternoon.  Although that might have been due to the mix of sunshine and alcohol….

It was a lovely few hours, being part of something and experiencing the community spirit.  It felt like a step back in time – when villages would come together and feast and celebrate – a bit Darling Buds of May (although I never saw Catherine Zeta Jones in a mop cap and apron).

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Now I am a proper grown up, whenever the sun appears I am eager to dry my washing outside (something else I bet Zeta Jones never has to do herself).

However, I am in no way a domestic Goddess.

For instance:

Trying to be economic, I raided the washing baskets for anything else I could stuff into the machine, and found a pair of underpants.  During the 8 metre walk to the kitchen I somehow mislaid them.  I searched everywhere, fearing they had been lost and would quietly stink the house out.  Or worse, they were in league with the odd socks that magically disappear….

I actually found them in the washing machine.  I must have put them in there on autopilot, like when you arrive at work but don’t actually remember driving there.  Satisfied with my load-size, I popped the wash on, and chose one of its 76 different cycles.

1 hour and 18 minutes later (although when the LED panel says 3 minutes remaining, we all know that is a bold lie) I found myself manically searching the clean washing and machine for the little rubbery thingy that the washing liquid goes in. FFS.

I later discovered it in the cupboard….I forgot to put washing liquid in with the load.  Apparently, my clothes just swirled around in 30 degree water.

 

Like an out-of-body experience, I recently watched myself going round Lidl with a trolley laden with bedding plants and questioning who that person was. When did this happen?  When did I start potting plants?  A friendly shopper commented how cheerful the flowers were and I smiled confidently, inside panicking in case she asked me any questions….I had no idea what they were.

I do love our little patch of Nature: yellows, reds, pinks and lots of green.  The aromas of mint (chocolate, lemon, garden and Moroccan – all for different cocktail purposes) and lemon verbena.  Bright white flowers are appearing, ready to burst with strawberries and little sprouts of carrots are popping through the top of the compost.  I am, however, disappointed that the lettuces aren’t appearing yet, and I wonder if the seeds have just given up waiting for a “proper” Spring.

There was one (yes, just one!) day last week when I sat in the sun after work reading my book, with only the noise of chirping birds and the humming of a distant lawn mower.  I looked up to see a bird of prey riding the thermals (?!) and 100s of dandelion clocks floating around – it was utterly  magical!

Still no lettuces though.

The joy of gardening – can I use officially use that term when a. I don’t have a garden and b. I am clueless –  has spread to Charlotte.  She keeps asking me if the strawberries are ready yet and “will they have grown by the Summer when I come and stay?”  Mind you, she just really likes the taste of wild strawberries, so that’s more likely to be the real reason she is hassling me.

We planted lots of seeds during her Easter visit and I sent her home with a few pots.  I was hopeful that now she was a bit older, and her Dad had given her the run down on photosynthesis, that she might water them and not forget them the minute we had dropped her off.

Last week she rang me twice and started the conversations with “guess what?!”  Lo and behold, some purple poppies and a chilli plant have started to sprout.

 

Apparently this is where my adulting “skills” end.

A few weeks ago a plumber visited to fix our bathroom taps (one doesn’t turn on and the other won’t stop dripping).  I was able to explain the problem, but I had absolutely no idea when he started asking me technical questions about where the mains tap (?!) was.  I proffered a few guesses (they were incorrect) and then he suggested it may be behind the washing machine to which I replied “yes, it looks tappy in there”.

Despite my ignorance, he managed to find the source and turned the water off successfully.  But then I tried to offer him three drinks which all required water, so at that point I just backed out of the kitchen and continued working until he had fixed everything.

 

The following weekend I thought it would be good to clean the mould off the wall (gross) and paint it a lovely pistachio green.  It wasn’t until a family of cyclists rode past that I realised I should probably be wearing more than a pair of ill-fitting pants* and a white t-shirt.  I also wondered if professional painter and decorators use wet wipes to clean off paint splodges and mistakes.  I am guessing not….

*does anyone else require 2 pegs to hang their knickers on the washing line? (I’m asking for a friend, obvs).