The weather has cheered up a bit at last and we seem to be in real danger of experiencing Spring. Although the clocks went forward again this weekend, so that it was of course darker again first thing, there is still a hint of blue in the sky and the daffodils that have managed to survive in our garden are all in flower. I did buy some crocuses and some primrose-type plants for the tubs near the back door and they’re all flowering quite successfully, although the crocuses are beginning to look a little weary, leaning against the nearby foliage for support.
Meanwhile, what is happening in our little village? The oil tank was fitted last Monday although the boss of the firm did not appear and it’s unfair to take out my irritation on the chap who did turn up. Words will be had at some point, but clearly it’s going to have to be some other time. The post office has a collection box for our post-lady who is getting married soon. She did a sterling job in all the snow just before Christmas and is always polite to me, so I need to remember to take some extra money with me next time I’m going past and then also remember to put the money in the collection box. The dog walkers have been out in force and the council have even been trimming the grass verge along the edge of the main road just beyond the village. We are all responsible for our own grass verges, it seems, so I doubt they’ll be here, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose.
Verity came last week for a coffee and a natter; she seems to have been so busy lately, what with her charity committee and holidays and various luncheons that I have hardly seen her. Fortunately, I have been getting to know Delyth, Annie and Jenny rather better so we occasionally visit each other, although Annie is a bit of risk because with all the children she looks after, you either have a house full of sticky hands to clean up afterwards or, if you visit her, you have to check before you sit down in case there are some building bricks or other toys on the chair that are unlikely to contribute to your comfort. Verity has been doing a poetry course and thinks I should join her.
“It’s great fun,” she told me. “We read each other our poetry, say what we don’t like about it and then drink lots of wine. And they don’t have to rhyme.”
I’m not at all convinced that I can write poetry even if it doesn’t have to rhyme but since Verity is rather like a force of nature, it’s easier to go along with her at least once and then I shall have more ammunition to turn her down for repeat visits if I don’t like it. And I know she means well. She worries about me and my rather limited circle. She shouldn’t; there was a party in the village hall at the weekend, someone celebrating a fiftieth birthday and the OH knows them a bit so we were invited, and I realised that I knew quite a lot of the people there, either from seeing them in the post office or out walking their dogs when Chloe was making me run around the village. I may not know all their names, yet, but we’re on nodding terms and everyone was very friendly, even before the champagne had been opened. Not having to walk home after the party had a very clear effect and I suspect some dogs had to wait with crossed legs on Sunday morning as their owners found the paracetamol.
The Famous Writer and his wife were around at the weekend too, because I saw them walking towards the pub as we were heading to the village hall. The builders live at their house more than they do, so I suspect there aren’t many habitable rooms yet, but progress is surely being made. The house over the road that’s being let also has a resident, and I have a horrible feeling that... But I won’t say until I’m sure. It wouldn’t be fair, and knowing how gossip travels in the village, I could give someone an undeserved bad reputation. Though I suspect it’s not undeserved at all!
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