Wednesday December 17, 2008
We’d been scheduled to do our main Christmas shop in Swansea today, complete with lunch at the Kardomah. I think we’re both of us about ready to get on with life, and a decent cooked lunch on a sunny day seemed to me a jolly good way to start.
Just goes to show, though. Planning ahead isn’t truly a wise thing to do when you’re not truly and completely in control of events. The fatal phone call came this morning as we were discussing the things we need to do.
“This afternoon?” Graham said to the bloke at the other end.
“Who is it?” I stage whispered.
“Garage door man.”
“Great! Do it!”
And so we took ourselves off to Neath for a bit of an outing combined with a trip to the bank, aiming to be back in good time to do lunch.
Walking from the bank down through the town towards Morrisons, we took a turn into the Neath Indoor Market (1837, renn. 1904) so’s I could get the flavour of it. Wonderful! Every sight, smell and delight of Welsh domestic life since early Victorian times. Everything from boots to haberdashery Food stalls of all kinds. Small places to eat. And, like all such places, seemingly much larger on the inside than was apparent from the stree.
“Coo, look!” I said. ”Real faggots! And pots of bubbling Lamb Caul!”
“Delicious. Though it’s an oxy-whatsit to call it Lamb Caul.”
“Nothing oxy about it. Lamb means lamb, and caul is Welsh for soup.”
“You’re getting too clever for your clogs.”
I was too busy doing another “Coo!” by this time, though, at an adjacent stall. I’d found a hard-back reprint of the Faraway Tree collection, with something like original line illustrations and decent binding, all for £4.95, and was chatting happily to the lady running the bookstall, who seemed to know all about Enid Blyton.
“Buy it,” said Graham, hovering by my shoulder.
“Haven’t any cash on me.”
A ten-pound note appeared under my nose. ”Buy it,” came the command once more.
We managed to get home, prepare and consume lunch, and settle with a cup of coffee before the bell rang and Graham had to put on his coat and dash out to oversee the installation of our rather splendid new garage door. Can’t say it tightens my sinews. It’s a garage door. But it’s clean, good-looking, and functions very well. I don’t ask for more than that of a garage door.
So I settled down in my comfy chair to start on my new book.
“How’s it going,” Graham said when he came in, job done.
“Magic.”
“I rather thought that was the idea.”
Late in the afternoon, as the light faded, a steady trail of dog-walking neighbours came along the road, pausing at the bottom of our drive before passing on in the direction of the Enchanted Wood.
“I reckon we may have done some good business for that garage door man,” I said.
“Magic.”
The Magic Faraway Tree
