I had a brief visit home last night and part of today. Bert had not used the washing machine even though I had left him detailed instructions. My home is reverting to the look and feel of a bachelor pad. There were dirty dishes in the sink, a slight smell of socks and shop-bought meat pies in the fridge. The vegetables were mouldering uneaten and we were perilously low on toilet paper. There was no milk.
I said to him,
Do you miss my cooking?
He said,
Sure you haven't cooked anything for ages.
Duh! In the past three weeks I've spent sixteen days at Matty's. When I do get home I'm not going to start cooking for him after all the invalid meals I'm preparing at the Ponderosa. I had a major huff.
How soon he forgets. Mind you, I had forgotten the delicious pea and ham soup he had made when I'd got away for an hour on Wednesday not to mention the raspberry muffins for afters. I was still huffing when Mr & Mrs Wee Les came in. It was a relief to have an excuse to stop.
Afterwards we watched ancient footage of The Blues both the authentic and the somewhat less so. It was wonderful going to bed knowing that I would not have to bounce out of it at 7:15 sharp. All I did this morning was read an Anita Shreve, take a long, deep bath and go for a walk in the fields. It was noisy out there with the rat-a-tat-tat coming from the shooting range at the Loan Hill and the sound of the hunting horn and the hounds on the Granagh Road. But it was far, far better than the ceaseless drone of traffic on the Lisnevenagh Road and waiting for the wee voice that goes, “Meer-eeee.”
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