Monday, 1 January 2018
New Year's Day. Brilliant red sunrise 6 degrees. Heavy grey cloud. Grange over Sands
OH staggered out of his room and announced his intention of going fishing. If there were ever a man who needed a valet it is he. The valet would know where to find underpants and chaussettes de contention to restrain his varicoses. He would be happy to make sandwiches and a flask and hold things and take things out to the carriage.
Examination of the clothing rack and the laundry revealed only one special black elastic sock. OH snapped it on, together with a grimy friend from yesterday and then ran around the house in his underpants. If there had been horses and women, they would have been frightened. He has not adapted to the fact that there are neighbours in Grange. Finally, he was ready and drove off in a haze of diesel and rubber and peace descended. I got back into bed and wrote for a couple of hours and thought that this was a very good way to start the year.
With the sun already high in the sky, it was then time to set off and achieve my target of 8000 daily steps (or violent exercise class).
Down the hill between former council houses, Ashlyn, Waygarth, Dunromin, then through the campsite, with small green huts which make me think of Tenko. Awnings and camping chairs stacked up under plastic. Abandoned balls and dog chews. Stones painted white delineate slate chip gardens. Solar lights loll at rakish angles. Fairy lights in one window and a tv blaring. The reception hut is bolted up and tells people not to fly tip. No cameras in evidence.
Up the hill to the big pink retirement home. The air smells of pie and gravy and a Christmas tree with many lights winks at a tall window. In the garden of remembrance, a soldier stands guard, gun at his side. Gulls wheel overhead. His concrete features are composed and sad. I look over to Arnside, from where the weather comes and it is looking misty and starting to merge sea with sky with land. Turn into the top lane with stark trees and a field full of sad muddy donkeys. Crows goose step around the puddles and caw at me from the tall trees. Arnside has now disappeared into a black fog and the rain spits down with a vengeance, just as I reach the lych gate on the church. I sit in the porch with the stacked buckets and read the notices and the graveyard plan. Rain sheets off the slate pitched roof. Happy people with babies in plastic wrapped prams trot by.
I get back to the house at the same time as OH and just in time to admire the two flounders he caught. We then have lunch and watch Bonanza where a lady is confronted by a rabid wolf. She doesnt look that concerned. We feel that this is a moment where overacting is actually called for. It bites her and the rest is rather depressing. You know that she will not survive the end of the programme by the way she keeps talking about her bright and shiny future.
Spend the rest of the afternoon baking for the buffet at a neighbour's house. I really like my neighbour and her husband but want an exit plan if the rest of the group are really tedious. Say to OH, what code shall we have if they are boring? Give me another drink! shouts OH happily, tucking into the cranberry and brie bites.
By ten it is all over and we watch a bit of Hootenanny. Enjoy yourself, it is later than you think.... is how he always ends the show. A good motif, I think. Here is a Youtube link for you to enjoy it yourselves
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3vnJV8LGHM
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