I made a wise decision not to wait up last night. There’s some sort of engineering work going on that the OH had failed to take into account, and so the last train became a bus for most of the journey and he ended up getting back nearer 2 am than midnight. I was oblivious to this, although I did have a strange dream about aliens shining lights in my face, so perhaps that was when he was bumbling around trying not to wake me up.
I, on the other hand, got up this morning silent as a mouse, so when the OH finally woke up – he went in to work late today, to make up for yesterday’s late finish – I had already had breakfast, done the washing up, put the first load of washing in and packed up the biscuits ready to take to the deli.
“Can’t I even have one?” he asked mournfully.
“No. Muesli and low fat milk for you. You don’t want to end up like Max, do you?”
I’d forgotten that he was out when Verity called, so then I had to explain what had happened.
“So how long are we stuck with Ronnie?” he muttered, slurping at the coffee I’d kindly made for him with no thanks whatsoever.
“We’re not stuck with her, and she’ll be here as long as she’s here,” I told him, a little harshly perhaps, but if Ronnie had overheard him, she’d have been really upset. Fortunately, her hearing’s not brilliant.
I walked round to Edith’s, carrying my boxes of biscuits, and almost collided with Susan at the door to the deli as she dismounted from her bike.
“Lost your poppy already?” she asked cheerfully. “Want another one?”
I turned down her generous offer which was silly really, because I have lost it. I’ll have to get another one at some point.
Edith was very pleased with the selection of flavours and seemed to think that I might need to make more for Saturday. “Enough to be selling some on Sunday, too. You know, folks getting packed lunches planned for the week ahead.” I have never planned packed lunches a whole week ahead, but Edith seems to be doing all right in her business, so I have to assume that she knows what she’s talking about.
Susan followed the conversation with interest and promptly bought a box of the almond petticoat tails. “These are really good,” she said, trying hard not to spray crumbs all over me. “Do you make them to order, you know, for special occasions and that?”
It turns out that along with everything else, Susan is part of a ramblers’ group – a cyclists’ group would have been higher on my list of expectations – and they meet every fortnight or so, but although some of them head for the pub at the end, there are a few who would prefer tea and biscuits. Hence the interest in my offerings. So I’ve just had my first commission, which is really only the equivalent of three boxes of biscuits, but I’ll be able to keep all the profit rather than splitting the proceeds with Edith. I may have to buy one of those filofax things to keep track of my business!
The rest of the day was a bit dull after that. It was sufficiently windy to hang the washing out, although I didn’t risk a second load. The OH got home at a sensible time and watched some sort of sport upstairs while Ronnie and I enjoyed Derek Jacobi solving some medieval murders in Shrewsbury – though I think they filmed it in Hungary or somewhere similar, because Shrewsbury doesn’t look like that now. Certainly the names of some of the film crew are very East European. I left a phone message for Delyth to tell her the progress I’m making with my biscuit business. That was about it. Living in a village is pleasant, but it’s hardly party central every day of the week. Personally, I prefer it that way.