In order to escape the planned power outage today, I made a
round trip to the two nearby towns to get things I needed. I spent more than I
anticipated. In addition to the practical stuff, I also bought two coats, a
fleece-style sweater, a pair of good quality wellies, and lunch.
Admittedly, the two coats and the sweater came from a charity
shop and cost a little under £12.
... the wellies were in a clearance sale and cost a little
over £4
... lunch consisted of a bag of chips and a bar of chocolate,
which cost the staggering sum of £1.55.
But that isn’t the point. The point is that I’ve spent so
much of my life scrimping along on so little money that I won’t usually buy a
£1.50 ice cream because it seems such an unwarranted extravagance. So what
the hell came over me today? Is this proof that my descent into ordinariness
wasn’t a flash in the pan? Or is this a new version of madness to which I need
to become accustomed? Maybe I just don’t care any more.
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I took my usual walk along Mill
Lane this evening wearing one of my new,
second-hand coats. Sarah was seated by one of the windows of their sitting
room, the window that faces the lane. I couldn't tell what she was doing; she might have been embroidering a sampler for all I knew. I waved to her and she waved demurely
back. Demurely, note. (I don't think I've ever seen Sarah do anything in such a way that would incontrovertibly obviate the adjective 'demure.') She had her
hair pulled back into a bunch. Not a pony tail, a bunch. That and the wave made
her look like a Jane Austen heroine. Fortunately, I’m not into Jane Austen or
her heroines, but it was pretty damn cute all the same.
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The last two mornings I’ve woken up prematurely again; seems
like the recent nine and half hours was just coming up for a gulp of air before
being plunged back into the depths. It’s a bit like spending life on a ducking
stool.
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