They’ve got gooseberries, he shouted from the bedroom.
He’d been calling our local health food shop. He always calls first, usually on a Monday morning, to place the order and they bag it up for him. It’s a nice touch. They all know him by name and remark on it if he doesn’t call. The owner usually takes the call and says yes, after each item, with a slow deliberate stress on the word, as she writes the list. He puts his hand over the phone and mimics her, in a kind way, for he is fond of them all. He likes being known, far more than I do. This is his home and it enfolds him.
The gooseberries are lovely. I stewed them this morning and put them on top of my fruit salad. I love the hairiness of them and that sharp tangy taste. Gorgeous.
They’ve put two enormous deckchairs in the paddling pool now sandpit. They are super size and no doubt for kids to clamber over. They didn’t look too safe this morning as I walked by. And what about the rain that has just come? They are doing their best. The name of this shabby old town is emblazoned across them.
500 words. That is my aim for today. Half today, half tomorrow. The beginning is always the hardest. Where to start? I get waves of fear. And I try to steady myself. I love the process and at least it is within my control. It is only writing. It is already there in me. Its just a case of letting it out. I can do. I can.
A girl in Doc Marten boots walked past me using a walking stick. It made her look interesting, elegant even. It is getting quieter. The students are migrating home for the summer.
Enough. Work now. Cup of tea. A quick sit and then write. It will come. Breathe.