Monday morning, wet drizzle, grey sky. I usually play tennis on a Monday morning, weather permitting, but obviously today is yet another disappointment. The forecast is for the rain to clear up by midday, so we are going to try to play early afternoon.
I need the exercise, yesterday my putative dog walk to find the "fox in the tree" fell flat. The weather turned absolutely vile, the heavy rain lashing at the windows, the sky glowering dark and menacing. We did manage a short foray outside, but soon ran for home. I managed to fill the log basket a couple of times, dashing to the shed with the rain soaking me each time. Then - joy, oh joy, I threw a fur throw onto the sofa, banked up the fire, the dogs and Iggy the cat aprang up and settled down around me, and I worked my way through the Sunday papers, glass of chilled white wine, and a gorgonzola and pear bruschetta to hand. You know, there are a few pleasures, indeed simple pleasures, still to be savoured.
I won't embarrass myself by admitting just how long I hunkered down in this blissful state, suffice it to say, I felt rested and so much calmer.
Unfortunately, by bedtime, the rest of the house was so cold, I toyed with the idea of settling down for the night on the sofa It was the end of day 3 without heat, due to the boiler breakdown, and the thought of crawling up to bed in a freezing cold bedroom did not seem such a brilliant thing to do.
However, I quickly let the dogs out, made myself a cup of hot chocolate, Charbonnel & Walker, no less, amazingly purchased in T K Maxx, and the dogs and I scuttled upstairs. I heaped two fur throws on the bed, a hot water bottle in the bed, donned a thick granny nightdress, a cashmere shawl round my shoulders, and cashmere bedsocks, and hopped into bed. Up popped Maud, not so agile any more so she has to hop on to the bedside stool and then on to the bed, quickly followed by Bill. Each dog wolfed down a handful of dog gravy bone biscuits, and then down the bed they tunnelled.
Such bliss - I lay propped up on a big pile of pillows, angled my reading lamp, and settled down to my book, a biography The Life of Irene Nemirovsky. Bill lay down one side, Maud the other, and I felt so loved and cosy.
When I put the light out, and snuggled down with the dogs under the two fur throws, the bedroom so cold I imagined I could see my breath, I felt like Lara in Doctor Zhivago, and fell asleep dreaming that one day my Yuri would appear on a troika to whisk me away, bells tinkling, the runners of the troika swishing across the snow.
6 hours ago