My flat is a tip. I am wading through teetering piles of paper, mostly study notes, bills and election leaflets. I ran out of hoover bags about..err…1998 actually and the dog has shed me a new carpet. There is stuff congealed on the cooker that seems to be sprouting tentacles and the fridge won’t open in embarrassment.
And it’s a bank holiday which means we woke to lashing rain and howling winds.
By midday the sun has made an effort and although there is no difference to the temperature, outside looks less arctic. Apart from that wind……As I watch a pigeon is blown backwards across the garden with a slightly baffled look on its face. I suit up for a brisk, bracing walk pulling on long johns, a big cardigan, extra socks and a rain coat and square my shoulders bravely harnessing up Grace but outside I am hit across the face by icy sodden blasts and my resolve dissolves. I whimper. Grace looks at me with disgust but I am defeated and retreat back into the warmth of the living room with its towering piles of detritus. Perhaps I could set fire to some for extra warmth?
Dad skypes from Lusaka and we have the ‘Zambia’ skype conversation
‘….Can you see me?..’
‘Yes..no ..now I can..’
‘….. I’ve lost connection…Can you hear me?’
‘Yes..no …now and now and…oops lost video..can you see me? ‘
Repeat to fade.
We, Grace and I, are up to Bath again tomorrow and so with rather a lot of reading and marking up to be done I can see that the spring cleaning isn’t going to happen today. Perhaps when the sun comes out for real and the birds (and the pigs) start flying the right way round.
‘This Dog Has My Heart’ (c) T.Bush 2010