All I can hear is the hum of the laptop. All I do is sit in front of laptops, drive and see beautiful things. I think I can live with that.
Today it was 26 degrees outside the Surrey Hills office. The sunshine beat down on me, both oppressive and magical. I taught people how to read statistics and plan strategies, then drove off back through the light to home.
The garden is blooming. Each thing seems to have stretched towards the warmth and light and covered itself with leaves. The tulips Tom left either side of the decking have a curious symmetry and yet not symmetry framing the rest of the space. I like to sit outside with my work when I get home red and yellow tulips on one side, bluebells facing me and weird yellow shrub I don't know the name of on the other.
I read and worked and hung washing out in a loop for part of the evening, and for the rest I've been a bias binding making machine. The gingham making my eyes swim as I cut fabric over and over again.
Tom isn't here. He's away in Loughborough for the next bit of his course and I've settled into the routine I make for myself when he's not here. Every thing is as tidy as I can make it. Everything is quiet. I'm eating picky bits for tea and bowls and bowls of fruit and watching bad films. There's no one to tell me to go to bed.
I want to make the raspberry canes flower faster so we can feast. Will the shoot I pulled up take? I can give it to Louisa for her garden then. Will the hydrangea reach the top of the pergola.
Since when did I like gardening?
Since when did I do housework without thinking?