I didn’t sleep at all well last night, tossing and turning, and had the feeling that I was awake for all, or most of it. Of course, I wasn’t, but I certainly didn’t wake refreshed this morning. John thought it was his fault. He always tosses and turns and is up half a dozen times but no, I don’t think it was that. I am not sure what it was, but it led to the feeling of walking through treacle early on today.
I got up and started to wade through the various jobs I had jotted down every hour during the night. One interesting job was to load some of Mum’s poems into a portal, for a group of people to consider whether they might publish them into a little pamphlet. I don’t hold out a lot of hope as the instructions are quite fierce. ‘If your work tends to cliché, abstraction, generalisation, worn phrasing, righteousness and outrage, it is not likely to interest us.’ Hmm….. Mum’s poems may be a bit clichéd with a few well-worn phrases….. but I’ve submitted them anyway, for a bit of fun.
However, I wasn’t long into the choosing of the poems and copying them into a Word document when I realised that I couldn’t access half of them. That was because, when I got them printed into booklet form for Mum’s 90th birthday, I did them directly into the programme for print. And access to the programme was missing. Help……. George?
Dear George, thank goodness, came to the rescue and sorted out the file path and access to the delinquent poems, from which I selected a few more to submit to the august committee. What a very good friend he is. I don’t expect to hear any more about the submission, however, but for a moment that little flame of hope flared. Think how excited Mum would be if her poems were in print for people to read!
I wasn’t far from finishing that little job (which actually took me until mid-day) when John said he was off. He was making another trip to Sutton. Must finish the electrics, he muttered.
Not very long after John had left, there was a mysterious text message from Andrew. ‘Gonna leave soon. Will let you know when I am on the move.’ Did a little dance. Excited butterflies in my tummy. Andrew’s coming home! Did another little dance. Oh, bliss. I hadn’t even been aware that a visit was on the cards today. What a lovely surprise.
And it was bliss. We naturally sat outside, but the weather was good and relatively warm. There was no breeze, so no wind chill factor. We lit the chiminea to keep the chill away though, just in case, and cosied round it, made a cuppa and sat and chatted and chatted. Bliss, bliss, bliss.
“Does Dad know you’re coming home?” I wanted to know. I couldn’t believe John would be out and about if he knew the prodigal son was coming home. Apparently, he did know and said to Andrew he’d be home about six. Well, that was nice. I had Andrew all to myself for the whole afternoon. It was lovely.
Before Andrew came, I hadn’t quite decided on food for the day, but I had got a whole chicken in the fridge. Always going to kill the fatted calf when the boys come home, aren’t you? So today was no exception. Winner, winner, a roast chicken dinner. And it was delicious. Magnum to follow. What a treat.
Andrew had brought home with him a fair few chattels from the flat he’s vacated and that he can’t fit into his single room. We spent a little while unloading the car and filling our house up with stuff. Not sure how long we’ll be keeping it this time….
John finally made it home at around six o’clock as promised and had a comfy hour with Andrew before he needed to head back. I was cock-a-hoop, having enjoyed Andrew’s company all afternoon but sad to wave goodbye again. It was such a short visit. Short but sweet. He set off, laden with a few bits and pieces like food, as well as one or two items he needed for the professional kitchen. “Bye! Drive carefully!” we called, as we followed him all the way down the road with our eyes, waving all the while.
The treacly feeling had miraculously disappeared when Andrew said he was on his way and it stayed away all afternoon. Funny how it came back again after he’d gone though, eh? Couldn’t be bothered to do anything much this evening – not even the pots. So, they’ve stayed stacked by the sink ready to be washed tomorrow morning. I just shut the kitchen door on them. Perhaps the cats’ll lick them clean…….
Andrew and I mulled over the COVID-19 situation and considered where the hot spots might be and concluded that neither Cambridge nor Balsall Common are ‘hot’. But there are places across the country which must be hot, because there were 1,406 people confirmed as infected today and two people reportedly having died from it in the community, and one in hospital yesterday.
Are we getting blasé to the figures, do you think? I remember there was a worry when 750 people were infected at one time, and now, we don’t seem to bat an eyelid that there are almost double that figure of people infected in one day. There’s no accounting for it, is there?
In the meantime, a visit from Youngest Son has buoyed me up for the days ahead and I am hoping that the treacly feeling goes away tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.
God bless. Go well this week everyone.