Hello dear reader and welcome to a freezing Sunday at Chez Comb. Another week of snow and temperatures in the minus Celsius. I have not been far from the homestead as the pavements are very icy and I don't fancy a fall just now. Imagine if I broke an arm or a leg and Spouse had to look after me and run the homestead. Mmm, let's not imagine.
Instead I have stayed at home and done quite a lot of work on my current book, 'Aunt Mildred's Millions' and taken up a new hobby of pigeon watching. Most of the surface of our garden pond is frozen over except for in the middle and when the sun shines the solar fountain spurts jets of water into the air and melts a wide circle of water. We can't keep the water in the bird baths unfrozen for long, so our resident family of wood pigeons have braved the ice to get a drink. It's the best entertainment ever. (I know, I think lockdown is really getting to me). They frequently lose their balance on the ice and fall over, sliding and slithering their way to the centre of the pond for a drink. The icy cold water must literally go to their heads, as they then start a full blown bathing routine; head and shoulders dunked in repeatedly and then the wings in their turn. I can hardly bear to watch. I would never make a wild swimmer, just imagining that freezing cold water is quite enough for me.
Thinking back to last week and my story from our Durham Dales smallholding, have made the memories come flooding back. Spooling forward from that time, we lived in Scotland and I belonged to a local writer's group. We were invited to put together an evening of prose and poetry for an evening's entertainment at the local theatre, vaguely around the theme of country life. Try as I might, dear reader, and I really did, every time I sat down to write a serious peice, only something humerous came out. Well, living a country life with Spouse what else could it be? In the end I gave in gracefully and dutifully wrote my two pieces which were based on my experiences on a smallholding.
Now, dear reader, you and I have had quite a long acquaintance with Spouse and we know that given any situation, anything can happen and so it proved when he got himself and old Range Rover which he knew could easily cope with our steep farm track and not conk out halfway up. So, I wrote about this car and one or two other events that occured at the same time. But, after I had read my pieces out to the group, they were only attritbuted to a lively imagination. You, my dear reader know differently.
Picture the scene. Spouse had been out and about the smallholding all afternoon and yours truly was being a domestic goddess indoors, making marmalade and preparing a gastronomic delight for our supper. Eventually Spouse popped his head around the door and enquired about supper. 'About fifteen minutes,' I said. 'Mm, O.K., I'll be in soon.' And so he was. After a wash and brush up he sat down at the table for his meal. Now, mark this, dear reader. Spouse was off his tucker. Yes, really. He picked at the food on his plate in a disinterested kind of way. In all our years of marriage, unless Spouse was actually ill, this was an unheard of occurence. Was the meal not to his liking? I enquired. 'No, it's lovely,' says he. 'I'm just not ... quite ... Oh, I don't know ... maybe not hungry.'
Not hungry? Since when? This is the man known as 'Mr Hollow Legs. The plot thickened when Spouse excused himself after supper. 'I've just a little something to see to outside. I'll be in soon.' Oh yes, what kind of something I wondered? Spouse was very subdued and so I decided I would see what this 'little something' was for myself and followed him at a distance. This 'little something', dear reader, turned out to be his old Range Rover embedded in the gable end of the farmhouse wall. Spouse stood looking at it and scratching his head.
Well, naturally, dear reader. I screeched a bit at this sight. Wouldn't you? 'Look at it and you never said a word about it!' Spouse rolled his eyes and said in a mildly exasperated tone. 'Course I didn't. I knew you'd make a fuss.' Like it was an everyday event and I'd no right to make a fuss.
Well, eventually, the car was pulled out of the wall with the help of our good neighbours and a tractor. The stout farmhouse walls had withstood the crash with minimal damage to the stonework. I duly created a character called Lucinda and wrote up the event for my theatre piece. And the response from my writers group? 'Too much imagination, Patricia. That event is so never going to happen, keep it real, gal.' You see, dear reader, they didn't know Spouse. Always expect the improbable possible.
Take care, dear reader. The weather is set to warm up a bit and I hope to get out and about and I hope you can too. My very best wishes to you and have a good week.