It’s been one of those days. You know the ones? The ones that start after a night of unsettling dreams and interrupted sleep which begin out of kilter and just keep tilting.
Despite my reputation for tardy time-keeping I’m rarely late for *official* appointments. But I’m cutting it fine even before I realise that I’ve left things behind in the house I’ve just locked, things that I really do need in this nomadic life of mine. . A few hundred yards down the road and it’ s horribly apparent that at least one of my tyres is pretending to be a pancake.
Time’s slipping through my fingers as I pull into the nearest garage and fail to realise I’m using the air *thing* by the HGV pump until the ignorant —- with the belly, slouched in his flatbed starts hooting and making gestures at the other one. Oh you want me to use that one then, the one almost out of sight, behind the garage in the bit covered in sheet ice.
Now i’m definitely, probably late but still clinging on. Inevitably despite going as fast as the traffic / speed limit will allow I can’t make up that much needed 15minute cushion. My pins lady sounds mildly put out but tells me not to worry, and no she won’t let me pay for my missed appointment. Guilt factor +10, unsettled, unhappy and discord in treble figures.
Turn around and head home, to a house full of noise sounding not so much like it’s filtering through the party wall but being forced through with blunt instruments. Decide to fulfill request to collect and delivery a parcel from the village shop. It will definitely give my ears some respite and perhaps help restore some balance to the day.
The car is not where I left it. It’s five feet further down the road from where I left it, in gear with the handbrake full on… Clearly the slush I thought I’d parked on clearly had a higher ice content than I realised. Do I feel stupid? Oh yes, pillar-box red stupid It’s just there, in the wrong place, no damage done, but my heart’s in my mouth. We’ve had one incident here in which my car was the recipient of both my neighbour and her car at roughly the same time. Suffice it to say neighbour, car and my nerves were all fairly broken, damaged and frayed respectively. That’s one New Years Eve none of us will be forgetting in a hurry.
Drive cautiously into the village to collect the parcel and nearly get hit by an haughty old bag in a Chelsea Tractor. Yes I am making a really, really bad job of parking but I was doing it long before you appeared… Anything else? That not so funny, comedy shadow is still looming over my not very tallness and everything’s just wrong.
Home again and I’ve just heard the forecast which apparently will see the thermometers plummeting to minus eight . Decide to scrap the ice off the path by neighbours house. She may act like she’s 20 years younger, but 83 year old bones don’t take kindly to falling and I figure that doing something else *useful* might help with the balance thing. So head down, merrily scraping (yup that’s solid ice) and I realise I’m not the only one scraping. All four Polish builders (the ones currently just doing their job, but making my life hell) from the house next door have joined in. They make a far better job of it and work up from where I’m working down and clear the pavement to the end of the street. I tell them they’re kind, give them the thumbs up and try to explain about Pat (you know the lady with the dog) they give me a nod and a smile. I’m not sure they understood much beyond the thumbs up but I’m definitely going to buy biscuits tomorrow. I hope Poles *do* tea and biscuits.. Or maybe donuts…
(maybe the scales did get some balance – the day ended with a hug, supper and the pub)