Just over a week till our next trip to Barcelona, Alex has a three week or so slot available in her booking system. They are now very busy with a constant stream of visitors popping over. We are fitted between Chris from Beverley who is on his second visit and Sean and Maxine from York. But mustn’t grumble this will be our third trip since January and one we are really looking forward to.
Since we came home about six weeks ago we have removed a large Ivy hedge, repaired a chunk of fencing, painted all the outside brickwork of the cottage and glossed a few windows. And that’s not to mention the hi-tech curtain rail in the garden room, the second hand bureau for the hall, the old sewing machine and sewing box for the garden room or the mirror and various paintings around the cottage or even the curtains Christine has made for the garden room and the hall. And on top of all that we have sorted out the contents of two sheds, dismantled one of them and re-located it at the bottom of the garden. And even then I have probably fogotten something, I am a pensioner you know.
The whole point of bringing this up is to say we are shattered, we need a rest, I hope Alex and Dave don’t have anything lined up except coffee at the J.A.S. Cafe, Menu del Dio at any of the local restaurants and a few sherbets down the Bodequeta Del Mar because that’s about all we can manage at the moment.
The thing is we have both retired yet we are working six or seven hours every day to keep on top of the jobs we have to do around the house. What I can’t understand is how we used to do all these jobs when we were at work all week, I know that Parkinson’s Law exists but we are not just filling time we are working really hard. As surprising as it may seem to anyone who knows her Christine was yesterday using a hammer and a saw. The good news is that she has still the same number of fingers and none of them were flattened.
As I have said before retirement is supposed to be about taking life easy, that’s why I left work, to have an easier life. So here I am sitting in the garden room thinking about an average week at work, probably drive eight hundred miles between Beverley, Liverpool, Birmingham, Nottingham, Leicester and London visit lots of depots, meet many people and attend a few meetings. On top of that there were sausage rolls and sandwiches in the middle lane of various motorways, many buffets and always a hotel on the night.
Decisions to be made. Steak or fish, chips or mash, pudding or cheese, wine or Becks, probably both and then bacon, poached egg and mushrooms with maybe a sausage on the side for breakfast before another day starts.
Having been away from it for eighteen months I can see that certain parts of my previous life still have an appeal. No wall paper paste around in those days. So can anyone explain how I thought this introduction to hard labour would be better. “Easy” says Christine who just happens to be looking over my shoulder “you can spend it all with me now; what more can you want?”
I’m just off to the shed to put up some shelving. Thanks god it’s Friday, not because it’s the end of the week but because it’s no cook day, that means fish and chips for tea - can’t be all bad.
