Changes

 

The laundry is finally getting a new roof! It was the only thing mentioned on the surveyor’s report when we bought Damson Cottage, something along the lines of ‘Flat roofs are prone to deterioration and current issues would benefit from addressing.’ Well, it lasted another five years, just about, but the woodshed was becoming a mini-Amazon swamp and the laundry section was starting to make ominous dripping noises, too, so in January I secured the services of Roofer Extraordinaire Ant (that’s his name - he isn’t an actual ant) and he arrived on Wednesday to work his magic. 

He’s a genuine sort, originating from Canvey Island in Essex, which is the neighbour to my birth county of Kent. It’s nice to have a chat with someone else from ‘dahn sarf’ without the usual comment of ‘You’re not from round these parts, are you?’ He calls me “darlin” a lot, and says things like, ‘This’ll be a mint job” and he is true to his word, because it looks amazing - solid, neat and worth the expense. He finishes tomorrow - job done, darlin’!

The woodshed has already dried up. I made the mistake of standing in there for too long on Tuesday (because I am thinking it will be the perfect place to grow mushrooms) when it was still in its soggy state, and was duly bitten by some rabid vampire bastard of a mosquito who clearly hadn’t eaten all Winter. Who the chuff gets bitten by a mosquito in chuffing February? Me, that’s who. Bloody hell, it hurts. There’s a massive lump on the side of my neck which is very sore, plus 5 other smaller bites arranged around my shoulder. Just waiting for gangrene to set in and my arm to fall off. 

We applied to the RSPCA to adopt a rabbit friend for Edith. We want another lady rabbit, they want us to have a male rabbit. We have decided we are not going to be dictated to by the RSPCA about rabbits (although we, the vet and the vegetarian, are very grateful they even agreed we could be potential bunny parents) so we are continuing our bunny searches elsewhere. 

The fig tree has still to arrive. Email appeared this morning advising a new delivery date of 10th March. I suppose this is just as well as the awaiting hole is currently full of water through the combination of being in clay soil + the effects of Storms Dudley, Eunice and Franklin. 

And then sad news. Andy’s Dad died, somewhat unexpectedly, last night. Andy managed to see him in hospital yesterday afternoon and I spoke briefly to him on the phone. He sounded breathless and weary with life, but now he is off on his spirit journey to be with his much missed wife. No more worries, and reminding the rest of us that, when all is said and done, very few things in this life matter. 

My abiding memory of him is when he came to visit Andy and I in Maidstone and we took him for dinner at Café Rouge. He spent some considerable time chatting up our waitress in French until she informed him she was, in fact, Polish. 

‘Oh yes,’ he said, without skipping a beat. ‘And which part of Poland are you from?’ 

After dinner, we offered to walk back to the hotel with him. 

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ve found a nice little pub. Think I’ll pop back there for a night cap.’

I was appalled to find out the ‘nice little pub’ he’d found was none other than the biggest dive in Maidstone at the time - The Druid’s Arms’. I can only guess that the barmaids there were particularly attractive.