annanotbob2's Diaryland
Diary
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Sunday at the seaside
I haven't quite worked out how little I need to do to not be completely bowled over with exhaustion at some ridiculous point in the day. I want to write earlier, before I'm done, but I lose all capacity to do anything other than sit with my mouth hanging open, gawping at the telly without knowing what's in front of my eyes.
Today's total achievements are:
- Making my first meal of the day - a toasted slice of my own homemade bread (a small thin slice as it's heavy as fuck, don't know what happened there), half an avocado, two tomatoes and a fried egg (weird shit is happening to the eggs I poach - I used to poach them for 2mins 45 secs for a set white and a runny yolk and this worked nine times out of ten for two years, but now I've only been able to get runny whites (shudder) even if I cook them for 4 minutes - 4 minutes! - by which time the yolk is solid. Sigh. This happened on about six consecutive occasions, with me increasing the time slightly till now, fuck it, I'm back on fried. But I prefer poached - I can't be washing the oil out of the pan and using more the next day, on and on, but I can't leave it unwashed). I've included all this unnecessary detail to convey the effort involved in this hitherto simple task.
- I washed up. By hand, in the sink, which I don't mind to be honest. He does the cooking and I wash up, once a day. The sun shines straight through the window onto me at the sink till about 11.30 so I'm not doing it till that's over. The sink's by the kitchen window so I gaze out at the garden, mostly wishing it would rain or that I could put a sprinkler on it as all the grass is crisp and brown and the rest of it is just thirsty as fuck. It's alive, it'll make it through to next year, but it's bedraggled and thirsty, it's so fucking thirsty. While I'm writing these words I'm thinking I have to stop chucking the dirty water down the sink - it can go on the garden. Not the veg, though they're pretty much done for already. OK, that's the plan. From tomorrow I'll empty the water onto the garden, working my way round. So, I wash the dishes, which when they're draining upside down turn out to all be from fucking Ikea, which is writ large all over their bums. So it goes. They're probably just as cuntish as the other global corporations I hate and try to avoid, and there's def something chilling about us all having the same furniture and shit, all over the world. OK, hands up, who has a Billy bookcase? Ektorp sofa?
- After a long sit down I went for a swim. I attempted to go lightweight but I did want to stay on the beach for a bit so I did need my chair - my back needs my chair, a nifty low level collapsible number, and some water, as well as my swim shoes - shingle beach, ya know, ouch - hat, swimsuit, sun cream, kindle, water, and before you know it my shopping trolley is full and it's going to be a mission getting me and all this from the car to the waterline. Now the water is warmed up (19C at the moment) half the population heads for the coast so there's nowhere to park unless you pay a fortune. Of course I do have a couple of sneaky local places but none of them are any good for a swim at low tide as the water stays shallow, ankle deep, for miles out to sea and the beach is full of slimy rocks that'll break your neck as soon as look at you, so I have to find the best combination of a likely space, distance to beach and height of beach. I struggle with this because I'm too tired and if I had any sense I'd stay at home, but somehow that's not an option. When I swim with someone else they drag my trolley back up the beach but I haven't arranged anything today and I can't face unanswered phones so I'm on my own. And like I knew it would be, it's a big fucking hassle, especially paying in the car park with a broken machine and an app whose inventors should be in fucking prison, but when I walk up and over the brow of the shingle and there's the sea, sparkling and endless, right to the horizon, all is well. There's a kiosk so I queued and bought a Magnum (chocolate ice lolly), dragged all my stuff down to the water's edge, set up my chair, whipped off my dress and yeah, this is where I want to be. I ate my ice cream and read my book till I was too hot to bear, then walked straight into the sea, floated and drifted and did a bit of splashy not really back-stroke, under a blue sky, like on the Med. I like to interlink my fingers and rest the back of my head in them while floating and drifting with the waves. My old yoga teacher used to tell us to put our hands behind our heads 'as if you're on your holiday' so I always think of him when I do it. Fuck it's nearly 1.30 - bed
- Yin yoga - fab
- Blogged
Night night, stay safe y'all xxx
1:29 a.m. - 08.08.22
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