Village Show

She’s an academic at the University, a reader. She’s often in the studio. A bright woman, who speaks articulately. And she bakes. Is it waffles this morning? I asked her yesterday as we parted. No, she said, I’ve baked a cake this morning and will make another this afternoon. I ask which ones. Lemon Drizzle this morning and a gingerbread this afternoon, she replies. She is trialing them for her Village Show cake competition. I don’t ask what village. I wouldn’t know it and couldn’t spell it. But I love the cosiness of it. That belonging, the making, the lovingness of it. She is a feminine woman, her hair a soft blonde foam. And she has tiny feet. Your house must smell divine, I say.

A mizzly day for my birthday. I don’t mind. We bought some lilies. I take time putting them into two vases. They are still closed, but will open soon. Two texts, an email, a card and a FB message. I am remembered, that is enough. We don’t exchange presents. We used to. Always three. It was a bit of strain, though I do love giving. But it is unnecessary there is nothing to prove. We care, that is evident daily. It is enough.

No bookings today so far. We will go then. Finally. To sit and drink tea and stare at the sea. What could be nicer?

Thank you for everything. x

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.