Saturday August 30, 2008
I just about finished the paper work yesterday, half-promising myself I’d round it all up today. It was however one of those lovely, lovely nights when I go to bed at a normal, sensible hour, wake as usual five hours later with my hips promising to fill the night with screaming agony unless I get up, drink something hot and comforting while playing quietly on the computer, and then creep back for an hour or so. If I’m lucky. But… On this occasion I slept all the way through to nine-thirty, woke feeling wonderful, cosy, bed-warm and stretchy, with not a hint of pain.
“I think this’d be a good day to go to Taunton to get those new cushion pads ordered, then,” Graham said.
“Oh. Do we have to? We really ought to finish these papers.”
“Depends on your definition of ‘have to’,” he said, his voice filled with dark menace.
“Okay, then. I know what that means. Let me sit and enjoy my coffee, then I’ll get myself ready.”
The road between Bridgwater and Taunton is busy at the moment, with a combination of road works and diversions making for long delays. Graham started getting grumpy.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Nothing to be done about it. We’re comfy, cool, and there’s no reason for us to hurry. Just sit back and enjoy.”
The ‘humpfhh’ I received for that pearl of wisdom was the kind that knows I’m right, but would rather die than admit to it.
We found the foam shop and Graham entered upon a long and complicated discussion with the proprietor about the kinds of foam and padding we need to rejuvenate the seat cushions on our dear old sofa. It was successful, the price was acceptable, and we contracted to return next week to collect them.
“Now what?” I asked when we got out into the fresh air and sunshine once more.
“Nothing, really. I wouldn’t mind popping into the bank to deposit my final salary cheque, but other than that, we could go back home and take it easy over the weekend.”
“Fine, let’s do the bank. Then I shall refuse to budge until I have a little brunch to make up for being dragged out so early in the morning.”
“Where do you fancy noshing?”
“How about County Stores? We haven’t done County Stores in years.”
“Smells of mould.”
“KFC, then?”
“Smells of chicken fat.”
“Ok. I give in. We’ll do Subway’s again.”
It was pleasant enough, though I confess that my initial enchantment over Subway’s has faded. When you come down to it, it’s bread rolls with a cheap filling, nothing more, nothing less. If I have to eat bread rolls out I prefer that they taste more European than American. Nothing wrong with American, of course, but the lighter taste of France or the Western Mediterranean suits my digestion better. I’ve learned that La Baguette du Jour has opened a branch in Neath, close by the bus station. I intend to become a regular customer.
Home, picking up wine and provisions for the weekend. Graham will do his delicious spag. bog. tonight, and I intend to do steak and kidney pie, confused potatoes, cabbage greens and carrots tomorrow.
Such deliciousness. We deserve it, with all these papers waiting to be processed.
