Wednesdays in our house, as regular readers will know, have been dubbed “Piccadilly Circus Days” on account of the relentless comings and goings over the course of the day.
It starts around 9 a.m. when Donna, Mr B’s lovely carer arrives, and the two of them have their customary morning conversation over whether she is wearing her ripped jeans or what Mr B likes
to call her “normal” (as in, intact) trousers. “Are you alright?” she will ask him, to which he will quip, in response: “Only down one side...” When will she ever learn? I ask her.
Half an hour later, we hear the sound of a lawn mower out in the front garden. Ken the Gardener has arrived. I greet him with the offer of a cup of coffee (I do like to keep people happy, as you know) and we have a discussion
about (i) the amazing way the ceoanthus is flourishing, when just a year ago we were worrying about it; (ii) the fact that the first flower has appeared on the geum which my Little Sister gave me; and (iii) whether valerian is a weed or a flower. We agree
that we will count it as a flower because I think it’s rather beautiful and, anyway, it seems to have adopted us so who am I to turn it away? I tell him about a survey I heard about on the TV about cuckoo spit but he hasn’t heard about it. We inspect
the lavish amounts of cuckoo spit on my lavender and Ken says it’s the same in his garden. I say I will google the survey and let him know more.
visitor will be the Lovely Kay who helps me keep my house in order - she isn’t expected for another hour but there’s no peace for the wicked because the engineer from the firm which supplies our house alarm phones to say he is just five minutes
away, and is all ready, willing and able to replace equipment which was found to be faulty on its recent routine inspection. The more the merrier, that’s what I say. Presumably he won’t be here too long?
That’s what I thought, anyway, but Ron the Engineer tells me he will be here for at least two hours. Three hours later and he is still In The Building and we have had an interesting conversation
about his step ladder which is a Seriously Sturdy Piece of Equipment, with holes in the top step for the handy placement of tools, like screwdrivers and the like. Ron thinks that, however much I may admire his step ladder, it will in all probability be too
heavy for me. Reluctantly, I have to agree.
Ron makes a lot of noise while installing the new equipment. There is a lot of bleeping going on as he programmes the
alarm and every so often he has to sound the alarm which is very, well, alarming. Mr B keeps forgetting Ron is here, so at every bleep he calls out to alert me that something is amiss. “It’s only Ron!” I keep reassuring him. I do hope Ron
doesn’t take this as an insult, suggesting he is not an Engineer Par Excellence, what with his step ladder and all...
Kay and I chat away while she is cleaning.
We talk about the plants in the garden of her new house, her son’s sleepover with friends (how do you know when / whether to check if he is okay, or assume all is well unless you hear otherwise? There were no such things as sleepovers when my Foursome
were littl’uns so I have no idea) and the cleansing properties of vinegar. I love chatting to Kay. I tell her she is a bit like another daughter to me. She doesn’t look too appalled at the thought.
By 1.15 everyone has departed - but, hey, at 2 p.m. the members of our Nomination Whist Group will arrive for an afternoon of tricks and treats, of laughter and loud complaints about the despicable behaviour of those who trump
other people’s aces.
Piccadilly Circus Day. Secretly, I love it...