Despite the defiant sunshine which has made this such a lovely day, there is no doubting that, come the evenings, there is a decidedly Autumnal chill in the air.
Indeed, I've been contemplating whether it might be nearly time for my tee-shirts to go into hibernation so that there's room in my wardrobe for my assorted woollies. I've even given my winter jacket a couple of airings. It emerged,
gratefully, from the back of the cloakroom cupboard and served me well standing on Hove Lawns last weekend (see previous blogs) as the sun disappeared and left us in the gloaming awaiting our gallant cyclist. In appreciation of its efforts on my behalf,
I've found it a hook at the front of the cupboard now, where it hangs, hopefully, awaiting the next cold snap.
What's more, we have to confess to having turned on the gas fire on more than
one evening over the last few weeks. Are we alone, indulging in this guilty pleasure? Somehow, I think not.
There's nothing so cheery, on a chilly evening, than the leaping flames of
a fire (even if those leaping flames are gas-powered) and Mr B and I love our fire. We chose it together but I think it's safe to say that we approached the purchase from two completely different perspectives. For me, it was all
about the fireplace, by which I mean the surrounds within which our new fire would sit. I chose simple, elegant, black granite and white limestone - a thing of beauty, fit to grace any living room. A proper piece of furniture. Mr B was
much more concerned with the fire itself and, in particular, the fact that it boasted - wait for it! - a remote control.
Mr B is the absolute Master of the Remote Control. Unless we are actually
out of the house, his hand is never too far from one or more of these handy gadgets. He has a remote control for just about everything that turns on or off. There are at least four for the TV, as far as I can make out; there's the one for the fire;
we even have one and a spare for the awning at the back of our house. Mr B likes to demonstrate the Amazing Powers of his various remote controls to any visitor - so they have to watch, admiringly, while he switches the fire on and off,
or unrolls the awning and rolls it up again. Sometimes, if he feels the first demonstration has not been received by his audience with the correct level of acclaim, he will perform this miracle of remote controllery more than once. I
just wish he wouldn't line up his collection of remote controls all along the top of my beautiful fireplace. He says this is (i) so that they are near at hand; and (ii) so that he won't lose them but I had somehow imagined we would have
something rather, well, classier adorning our fireplace.
I suspect Mr B would like nothing better than to have a remote control for me. He would be able to turn me off, for one thing,
or down, for another. When I'm talking on the phone and interrupting his enjoyment of the Ryder Cup, he would be able to press a button and propel me (remotely, of course) into the kitchen where I can carry on my conversation without disturbing
him. When I start organising our life, on the very day that his beloved Spurs are on TV, he could just turn me off and turn me on again when the game is safely over and it's too late for me to come up with an alternative form of entertainment
for the afternoon.
And if he thinks that any of this might be a possibility, then I have to tell him, straight, that there isn't the REMOTEST chance...