Tis raining. Not pouring, just raining. A blustery spring day. Doesn’t look particularly warm out there. I am sitting comfortably on the pew in our kitchen having consumed an excellent bacon and mushroom sandwich in the company of THG. Toasted Waitrose white boule. Fosters bacon.
Being a Saturday demands a slow start. I’ve not even considered turning over the engine. Something, I know not what, is bubbling away on the stove top. My cup is full of tea.
I have an open day ahead. A few jobs to do at my leisure. Putting away the chip oil from last night for example. Life is not always glamorous, yanow. I will be making a beef stew in readiness for the arrival of our Joe tomorrow. A warming meal for the lad after a long drive up from the smoke.
I wonder if people realise why it was called the smoke. When mam and dad lived in London in the late fifties the smog could get so bad it could be difficult to find your way home. Especially the case after a seriously boozy diner at Temple Bar as dad once recalled.
We like the fact that the offspring want to come and visit us. One at a time is good but all four at once works too. Then the house gets noisy, busy. Sgood. We do also like time to ourselves. Reminds us of what it was all about in the first place, just the two of us.
It’s the last home game of the season for Lincoln Rugby Club but don’t think I’ll make it. Certainly not for the lunch. Boozy lunches at LRFC mean the day ends at around seven o’clock with the rest of the evening involving falling asleep on the settee. We are off out to the Castle View Indian with Mike tonight so can’t afford to fall asleep. Also THG is heading out with the girls in her car. I could cadge a lift to the club off someone. See how it goze.
One of my jobs is to give the lawn its first mow of the season. At least to see if I can start the mower. Obvs today is not a good day for the actual mowing due to the aforementioned precipitation. There is no rush. Life goes by quickly enough as it is don’t you think? 🙂
Grass does have rights too. The right to grow, free of decapitation in a land where grasses are appreciated, loved. Allowed to express themselves without judgement. Long live grass.