The Best Kind Of Ridiculous

Another streak of day flashes past too fast for me to write. These days do happen. We have a home forming with furniture almost where it needs to be and pans on shelves and coat hooks put up in the hallway, this is my compensation for the inability to catch any writing time. Also, just as I think I might sneak off with a biro and notebook, Boy needs someone to beat at chess. I play a random game, he engages strategically, hence the inevitability of outcome. We sit at the table; it has a tablecloth. I drink coffee from a cup and saucer, from my vintage gold tea set. We are civilised. We no longer wear muddy boots in the house. Sip, chink, smug smile, checkmate: marvellous. I study the new abode, I think my mouth is gaping. Look, there’s a place to hang coats! A shelf for the muddy boots! Behold, the gold china is not lost at the back of a greasy shelf! How many times shall I count the shelves in the pantry? I will never stop!

This morning is for exploring: me and Dog forge through long grass, alongside a stream, find an oak so thickly trunked it needs two of me to circle its girth. We can only see field, trees, sky, a horizontal triptych. My waterproof trousers leak at the knee. The nettle stings are fully deflected. I’m so happy; running through thickets of nettle and dock, unstung and pitted with grass seed; it feels like my body is singing. Dog appears and disappears, her demeanour purely joyous. We are the best kind of ridiculous right now.