I spoke too soon. The downpour sort of rain arrived this morning. No thunderstorm and no gloopy, sticky, tropical stuff. But still lots of it. Rain. And a strong breeze too. After weeks of unbroken stillness, the grass was freckled with pink and white apple blossom.
I did admire the clematis, but it wasn’t at its best. A little bedraggled, windblown and underperforming. Rather like me today, I feel. Am sporting socks (for the first time in several warm weeks) and an oversized sweater belonging to the husband. On top of the usual ensemble.
After admiring and rinsing my two trays of sprouting seeds – (gosh, how that takes me back to the eighties and Bristol’s Gloucester Road!) – I made an easy soup. This was a riff on the spring vegetable theme, sourced from fridge finds, ranging in shades from the palest of sage to the most vibrant leprechaun green. We ate bread from a packet at lunchtime. Despite being brown and seeded, this felt very wrong. The aroma of freshly baked bread has become the new feelgood norm, rather than the exception to it, in our five weeks plus confinement…
A baby for Boris – the news popped, unbidden, onto my phone. He’s joined ‘the club of six’ apparently. The other members, (who were also Members), seem to be from similarly privileged backgrounds. Strange that. But whatever you think of Boris, what a year he’s having?! Definitely not an uneventful 2020 for him and still only April.
Also on my phone there was a video of a poetry reading. Distinctive and powerful but not the kind of material I usually read, and nothing like the material that I write.
On Sunday, I was asked some questions by email by the enthusiastic Romanian student. One of them was the ‘magic wand’ one… if I were allowed to come back, be born again…those impossibly unlikely scenarios. Feeling wrong-footed and still a bit unwell, I’d now give a different answer. I would come into my creativity younger, angrier and grittier, with a lot of angst and attitude, and the ability to swear convincingly. A bit taller perhaps too; that would be good. But much grittier.
‘I’m getting a bit bored with my own company,’ my friend said. She’s isolating alone now, as are so many others. I must remember how lucky I am.