I did it. Well, they did it. It’s a haphazard affair with canes all awry and lop-sided but they did it. They grew and they have brought forth blooms. And they smell divine. I am inordinately gratified, grateful and pleased. Such a small thing but a wonder, nevertheless.
The sea was lapping this morning. The air heavy with moisture. A misty, misly rain is now falling. Midsummer’s Day Petroc Trelawney told us, as well as advising that there is to be a Honey Moon tonight. I shall look out for it but I suspect that, like this morning, there will be no moon visible at all, honey or no.
I dreamt of analysing Emma last night. Over and over it went in my head. A full moon kind of fixation.
A single fishing boat set out as I left the harbour. I saw its lights. Was it being skippered by the young man in sweatpants I spied through an ajar-ed door beneath the lifeboat office? What must it be like to be on the water at such a time, with just the sound of rock pipits and that lap lap lap.
There was a one-legged man in a wheelchair sitting outside the hotel just across from us yesterday. His wife deposited him there and went off shopping. He sat at a table reading a great fat paperback (like the kind you buy at airports). The waitress asked if he wanted a drink. No, thank you, he said, I’ve just had my breakfast. She left him to it. His wife returned about half an hour later with a paper and a few groceries. Plonking herself down in the chair next to him, she didn’t order either. Are they regulars? I pondered, as I waited for him to return from the loo. Does anyone say anything about their non-consumption or are they humoured?
It’s been resolved for the moment. It was such a worry last night. We shall see. Nothing from the BBC. How will that turn out, I wonder?
