The pigeon flew up out of the bamboo beside the door, scaring Ani and not doing a lot for me either as the wet dog jumped to the safety of my arms. Daft thing. The smell of wet dog at dawn is going to follow me all day… especially as she was then sick on the carpet and looked so upset and guilty about it I needed to reassure her I wasn’t cross. You don’t want to cuddle a wet dog in clean clothes.
I’m running around a lot today. I have a date with a hot tub. Sound cools? No, you know me better than that… this isn’t self-indulgent luxury, this is maintenance. This is the time when, although I do get to go in the hot tub in the corner of my son’s garden… I only get to do it fully clothed and usually dripping. And it is January and blowing a gale. ‘Nuff said.
I’ve already been to my son’s and done the needful, including clearing the stream that runs under the deck that was blocked by fallen leaves, refilling the pond and making the
vile green healthy sludge drink he calls a smoothie. I also prepared breakfast and dinner. While I can happily, therefore, add my culinary creativity, pisciculture and handyman skills to my CV, I am informed that my sock removal talents are below par and I should not add sock-pulling to my skillset. That I was thus informed whilst waiting for disposal instructions of said items… holding the pair of warm, sweaty socks at arm’s length… merely adds insult to olfactory injury. And when I’ve had a coffee I shall be going back to clean and begin refilling the hot tub which should, by then, be empty.
As if that was not bad enough, I then have to go into town. I avoid the place like the plague, as a rule. Much of the gracious smile of old stone and timber that once characterised it has been given the inevitable face-lift, leaving it with the fixed rictus of modernism sitting uneasily on the cobbled streets. But, needs must… the reason I’m going in has some nice ideas attached that are dangling like a golden carrot before me and and I can deal with a few non-urgent things I have been putting off while I’m there. It is not that there are no pretty corners to the place; the old town is lovely, especially when touched by the gold of afternoon sun. Today, however, is not golden, but grey.
I do tend to try, when I have to brave the town. I like to at least tidy myself up a bit from the usual wild-haired, make-up-less comfort. Not much point though, not today, as I will be diving in an out while the pathetic dribble of the hosepipe refills the tub and will still have work to do. Therefore, wilder-haired even than usual, what with the winds and all, I shall descend upon the market square smelling vaguely of eau-de-dog, with a soupcon of pondwater, underpinned with a base note of rotting vegetation and whatever horrors lurk within the filtration system. And probably garlic…
…which should, at least, ensure I am not waylaid by any impromptu social encounters.