annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary


Keeping on keeping on

Friday was carrying on much as before (moping on sofa, limp and useless) till YD arrived. I've been so off my head with tooth-related medication that real life floated away, right off into the distance, but apparently I shouldn't have been surprised by her turning up as I'd been party to discussions on the subject. So that was me told.

She's here to measure up her bridesmaids, for their outfits, though so far all she's done is play on my keyboard.

She's ahead of me - can play tunes that use both hands at once, whereas I'm stuck on 'By the Rivers of Babylon' (one of the top tunes that will impress my friends - it says so on the cover, so it's bound to happen). We both love it, though. When I get my next money through I'm going to buy a book of scales - that's meant to be the best method of getting your fingers familiar with the notes, and I feel there's a place in my life for a repetitive but not pointless activity. Soothing, I reckon.

As neither of us had any money I had to create a meal out of what was there, which turned out to be fusilli, broccoli and peas in a (from scratch) cheese sauce. Honestly, I haven't cooked so well in months - the pasta was exactly the right amount for two of us, the sauce was also spot on both in quantity and thickness (I'm sure there's a better word for that but it's escaped me), the broccoli had a bit of bite and all in all it made me amazed that I feel, most of the time, like a person who can't cook.

I've had a big mental block on pasta for years though (apart from spaghetti carbonara), as when I was bringing up the kids whilst skint as shit, we ate pasta probably three or four times every week, year in, year out, but that was over by the mid-nineties and I think I can find a taste for pasta again now, so long as there's no tomato-based sauce involved.

Today was unfeasibly warm (yuk - the spell-check is telling me I misspelled unfeasibly, but I didn't think so, so typed it into google and it came up as correct but top of the suggestions was 'unfeasibly large testicles' - yuk).

So, to the garden. I call it a garden, because it's my bit out the back and although it's all covered in decking, to me the word 'deck' conjures up a small wooden bit, attached to a proper, bigger bit you can get your fork into, and it's not that either.

Anyway, this has been a tough old season and looking back through my pictures I estimate that the last time I tended it properly was July, when it looked like this:

After seven and a half months of no care beyond the odd bit of resentful watering late last summer, and endless, endless bloody months of rain and wind, it's now like this:

Ach, it makes me tired just to look at it. There are so many bins filled with stagnant water and nowhere to empty them - I just have to tip them up and let it drain, which is very smelly and unpleasant. Sackloads of leaves to go to the allotment, masses of sodden wood, ditto, loads and loads of stuff that is neither useful nor beautiful so will be chucked out, all of which will have to be carried up the steps, through my flat, along the communal landing with its pristine carpet, down the front steps and into my car - currently quite a distance downhill, on the other side of the road. There's me (knackered) and Bloke (ooh, me back) so it may take some time. I cut a lot of dead stuff off before remembering it is still March so we could easily have frost again and things might die without that protective layer, so I gave up.

Later I managed to drag myself down the road (Bloke took this pic with his flashy lens, that gets it all in):

to the Saturday singing group that meets just round the corner. It was terrible, everything made me think of ED and my eyes just ran with tears the whole time. So many songs about loss and longing. She's signed us up for another do in this year's festival. This was us last year - me on the right, having a bit of a mental health day but Getting There Somehow:

Keeping on keeping on

Today I am grateful for: having a garden to moan about; Daughter bringing me a big box of delicious salad from round the corner; having a laugh with her; having two enquiries about proof-reading, though still not an actual job; discovering it's Arcade Fire not Arctic Monkeys that are booked for Glasto

Sweet dreams xxx

1:39 a.m. - 16.03.14


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