Birthday Suit

Woke to cockerel – real not girls’ alarm one. Far too early. Head filled with what to put in jam jars for Brownie sale. Scary recognition that I have become my mother. In younger days would be waking, turning to handsome stud next to me and saying ‘take me now!’. Instead there’s some bloke stinking of stale alcohol, twitching and snoring heavily. Took a wrong turn somewhere. Try to get back to sleep in yoga corpse position with much exaggerated deep breathing. Fail dismally. Will get up and make tea. Rip open curtains in birthday suit just as walker passing by, thankfully does not look up. Must remember not to do that. Day is soft, milky. Sheep gathered artistically in high corner of field framed by dry stone walls. Go downstairs to kitchen, cat sits up on chair, blinks, jumps down and stretches – one of those paws-out-haunches-up-stretchy-spine ones. Maybe cats do yoga too…

To think that on Saturdays I used to go to the White Company Sale on the Kings Road, SW3. Now it’s the Brownies Easter Sale, Market Street, SK23. Must dash, jam jars to fill and decorate, chocolate tombola to run. Mum would be proud of me.


Footnote to previous blog:

Just remembered that as a little girl I would eat the crusts Mum threw out for the birds having first dipped them in the soapy drain water coming out from the kitchen sink. Suggests I have the foraging instincts in me too….or that Mum’s cooking wasn’t up to much.