Feeling good

I was thinking of Monica constantly, yesterday, as she travelled towards the West of Ireland and a potentially difficult task. Bernie’s Mum is dying and she needs support dealing with that and with her sister. Claire has signed up for the trip, reluctantly. I hope they can be useful to Bernie without anyone getting too bent out of shape.

It’s been a strange time, since she left. I finished snedding and stacking the timber by lunch-time and planned to start processing the brash but got a message that my framing chisel would be delivered at 2-ish. If I was on the hill, I’d miss it, so I tidied around the yard until it arrived. Too late to start on the brash, I watched YouTube videos of coppicing skills, learning a lot, until it was time to get ready to go to the flat. The Vespa gave me the cold shoulder, again, so a new battery is definitely required. Fortunately, Angela started easily and off I went. Unfortunately, her brakes were a bit iffy until half way to Littleborough, which was exciting.

The keys were cut with no problem and, at the flat, I made a neat parcel of the chair, vacuum and a couple of other things to be retrieved. The rubbish was emptied and the toilets flushed and all looked good for Laura’s arrival. We checked the place over together but she was so excited she hardly noticed anything. The rent and deposit were revealed: a wad of £20 notes in an envelope that I would have to carry around for the evening and which is now hidden about the house until I feel like a trip to Rochdale. I wonder if the Post Office accepts deposits? Our last task was to find the meters; after hunting high and low, I was ready to trust Laura to get the reading but she took over the task and rang the management company number from a label on the back door. We learnt that the meters are locked away and only they can read them, so that’s what she requested. We wished each other luck; I left for Stacy’s with my bundle while she skipped back inside to wave to her friends waiting with champagne in the bar opposite. I don’t think she’ll allow bad behaviour in the flat, though: her Mum is going to get the spare key and be visiting regularly.

She and Kevin and I we were due to take our seats at the theatre. We were in the third row at stage level inside a strange, iron-framed spider squatting in the middle of the Exchange Building. Oscar Wilde worked well in the round because the actors could take up natural poses, though some of the asides had to be carefully projected. The acting and direction were well crafted but the whole was a little rushed and amateurish. For Stacy and Kevin that didn’t matter; they enjoyed every minute. With ice-cream and beer supplied at appropriate times, I was well happy, too.

Afterwards, I walked Stacy home while Kevin retrieved his car. He kindly collected me and our stuff and took me back to Angela in Littleborough. Bandit was very pleased to see me back at 11 o’clock and we played and chatted for an hour before, not really tired, I climbed the stairs with her.

After rolling over a few times, this morning, I felt very refreshed and well. Looking blearily at the kitchen clock I thought I was up at a respectable 7o’clock but donning my specs I was shocked to find I’d got the hands reversed; it was 11:25! I haven’t had such a fine, natural sleep-in for decades and I feel great. I must have been catching up from the cold’s depletion of my batteries.

Now, it feels like mid-morning but it’s actually 3:30 pm. The promised rain is drifting across the valley so I don’t feel bad about the missed half-day. A gift— the book “Traditional Woodworking Handtools”—was left round the back by Alex the Post so my afternoon will be a doss, too. Ah, life.

I can see an email waiting to tell me that the scything course has been deferred until September so I’ll be delivering the beehives after all, I guess. Arranging that will be my effort for the day, at this rate.

Again, I wish Monica all speed and success in her efforts for Bernie; I look forward to her coming home with many tales to tell.

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