Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

26/2/22 Saturday Last night we all had baths; Mr first, he likes the water hot, then me, then Dog, who protests the idea but settles in the warmth in spite of herself. Her ear fur was shampooed and conditioned, on account of all the undergrowth that needs combing out of it. She has her own towels, one for drying, one for putting on her bed to soak up the extra drips hiding in her thick coat. It’s surprising how much laundry Dog contributes to the household pile. At lunchtime, all clean and glowy, I go for a walk to Charlestown. Wave spume coats the harbour walls, the sea is stirred up, opalesque and green.   27/2/22 Sunday Coffee in bed with land plans- then up and walking the lanes- cut through the fields to see the old fallen oak down by the stream. It is bare and smooth and big, against a blue sky- a sky that is all the heavens, all the universes: infinity. The stream runs clear, noisy. Birds scoot through the scrub. It’s a close-your-eyes-and-step sort of a day, full of good faith,

19/2/22 Saturday Under a blown-fresh sky, I hang on to the lead while the LoveMe labrador bounds ahead. We meet a young spaniel, they have a little sniff and greet. Yesterday’s salad dish is pooped out a brilliant dark green, (by the dog, not me) I regret not photographing it. It is the 2nd most fabulous poo I have ever seen. (Once caught a fox squatting, it left behind a marvel, berry coloured and sculptured.) Drive to work over storm-strewn sticks.   20/2/22 Sunday Another storm squalling, not so severe. LoveMe Labrador and I bounce around the lanes. I talk to her about the snowdrops beginning to unbloom, the primulas peeking up, the daffodils throwing back their heads in the wind, clearly laughing. She looks at me with loving politeness. At work I go on a mission to Trelawney Garden Centre, and Bodmin Garden Centre, stocking up on two chunky cordylines, a tray of primrose, sweet peas seedlings, one variegated ivy, a striking black grass (Ophiopogon planiscapus), and a blue windflowe

12/2/22 Saturday Another Saturday not on shift: got my yellow Welfare garb on again for a colour belt grading. Parents and carers are not allowed in the building. I stand on the door to remind them ‘Graders only past this point.’ I do let folks in to use the toilet though, that seems the civilised thing to do. Afterward, we go to Homeleigh Garden Centre to make dream plans for hedging and edging. The lure of seed packets costs us £40. Having a land budget makes us feel rich, and scared. It can only be spent once. Dreams are worth a risk. We are cold from our shrub browsing so we get pasties for lunch and eat them in the car, which is parked opposite a row of daffodils and purple crocus. This evening I make an inventory of seeds, then we f east on leftovers, we let Dog have lamb bones to munch. 13/2/22 Sunday Regret giving Dog the bones. Mr cleans up the carpet, then makes coffee. It’s just before 7am, there’s a swoosh of wild weather in the dark, raindrops on the window panes catching

5/2/22 Saturday A leisurely start. Hold my hands around the ceramic glaze of a favourite mug, breathe in coffee steam, hear the birds caw and chitter, see the soft sky all still, all pale blue and foam.  Run a shower, let the water run warm then cold. Awake! Bags packed but not for work.  Mr has hosed the car clean, it sparkles like an iceberg.  First stop on this weekend’s adventures is to drop Dog to her stopover (with Youngest Son and Daughter-in-law, to be revered and pandered to whether she maintains continence or not). Dog does not even pretend to be sad as we leave. Next stop: Newton Abbot Leisure Centre, for black belt training (achieving a black belt is one thing, maintaining it is another). Last stop: Bristol, home of my brother, my sister-in-law, my bonkers niece. We have brought them the god-food of our homeland: Cornish Pasties, raw and oven-ready; they have the oven heated and ready. 6/2/22 Sunday Coffee, no leisurely time; clothes on, bags in car, drive to venue: Hutton

29/1/22 Saturday Sky: grey fleece on a white-gold sheep. Sea: unpolished metal. Workday: half a calming hour in the hydrotherapy pool flanked by less salubrious cleaning tasks.  Drive home: hungry. Mr toasts us a hot cross bun each, is generous with the butter. 30/1/22 Sunday Sky: mottle and marble, colours like old cutlery. Sea: graphite, lightly sketched. Someone has spilled silver ink. Workday: c louds drift, leaving wide blue space; we drive, a Sunday lazy meander with windows open.  Mr reports our new wood chipper’s debut as a success: it is orange, a very in-fashion bright orange. Stick by stick, the pile of cut hedge is getting chipped. The spring bulbs we planted are pushing up leaves, some are in bud, none open yet. 31/1/22 Monday Day begins: coffee in bed, reading up on wildflower identification (new book). Drive to work. Cloudscape is mountainous. Sea a heavier graphite than yesterday; it leaks silver ink.  At work, our care client is sick. Walk plans get scaled down to roun

22/1/22 Saturday Frostless and still, this morning. Garden stationary, like statuary. We are not: there is writing, land work, and home improvements in motion. There’s a spark, a waking up. The doomsday clock chugs, the human world sits like a frog in heating water, yet here our small world whispers hope. ‘The secret of change,’ Socrates said, ‘is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.’ Mr plans to go to the land, I will hear his tales of today when I get home. I have come to work where Saturday is hydrotherapy day, a half-hour session with the little warm salt pool to ourselves. We had a slot after the newborn class; relaxed vibe; and before a party of 8 yr olds; disco vibe.  23/1/22 Sunday Luckily I set an alarm or we might still be asleep, and after a sober night too. Blaming the cold for making our bodies hibernate. At work, a YouTube fire flickers in a stone surround: cold out, cosy in. The flat seems chilly so I put the real-life heaters on.