Oh it’s a hard life: leaving London in the rain and driving east to where the forecast says it’s dry, and finding it’s true. Watching the sunset go down with a glass of cider close at hand. My window frames slightly cleaner than when I arrived. Not difficult that; you could have planted potatoes in them when I got here.
Only one thing missing to make it a perfect evening. MasterB has remained in London with the lovely neighbours. It made the cleaning easier; I vacuumed, and where Cat thought the vacuum was a love rival, MasterB thinks it is a dangerous alien.
Between cleaning and dinner (and there is more cleaning to be done if anyone would like to volunteer), I went for a walk. Harvested hay; flowers by the verge, slows; cyclists enjoying the fine evening; a lone swan when I got back to the marina.
I haven’t been here enough this summer, and now autumn has us in her sights. So often I have thought that I should sell the boat. I bought it as a base to stay on when I visited Mother. This summer was to be the first time it really got my attention. It hasn’t happened. But for the moment I shall keep it. If I pop my clogs, the plan is that it will become Elder Nephew’s. I felt my breathing change when I walked between the fields. Londoner though I have become, my roots are in the country. Now if my premium bonds could just come up, maybe I come up with a perfect life.
The quiet here is so complete you can hear it. There isn’t even a weed nibbling swan tonight. The geese seem to have forgotten to quarrel, and the cows have moved off to another field. I seem to be the only person here. How rare; what bliss. I have become so used to living cheek by jowl with thousands of others, sometimes I forget what real quiet is.
There’s not enough oomph in the Internet signal to upload photos tonight. I am hoping it will cope with the words.
In the meantime, sweet dreams, and enjoy the last days of August.