Date Saturday 14 January Time 3.15pm
My thoughts and reflections:
I spent most of the rest of the morning downstairs in the sitting room, bored, whilst Astrid and Matthew worked.
She had her nose in a textbook entitled An Introduction to Pathology , and he was pacing, and occasionally scribbling on bits of paper, and looking generally pensive.
I put on some music and Astrid told me to turn it off; I tried chatting and Astrid told me to be quiet; I had a go at that new dance move on TikTok that everyone’s recording themselves doing – the Cossack one – and Astrid said, ‘For goodness sake,’ and left to go and work in the office.
Matthew said, ‘Just me and you now, Alice. Why don’t you show me some more of that lovely dancing?
’ And raised his eyebrows suggestively. But before I could ask what he meant, he put on these massive noise-cancelling over-the-ear Bang after the last couple of hours of outright unpleasantness spent trudging round Richmond Park, I couldn’t help thinking it was actually more meaningful to connect with Mother Nature at this spiritual level, from inside.
It was certainly moving me a lot more effectively now I was warm and comfortable.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it emerged the Romantic poets took my approach too – artistic licence and all that.
Wordsworth pretty much owns the daffodil, but for all we know, he never got closer to one than the bunch Dorothy popped on his desk as an incest-y come-on.
My phone pinged, with a message from my old friend Louise from St Hilda’s whom I bumped into at the wedding.
She said sorry for being last minute about it, but could we meet at Turners instead of Soma and she’d forgotten if we were meeting at three or four, so she was arriving at half three and she hoped that was okay.
Shit.
On my way now (love the Piccadilly line – so fast, and I’ve noticed a few people eyeing up my copy of The Guide with envy) but I can’t say I’m relishing the prospect of seeing Louise.
In fact, I’ve been putting off meeting for ages, ever since she reproduced if I’m honest, but when I saw her at Monty’s wedding I couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough.
It’ll be the usual new mum shit – bearing false testament to alcohol and fun, and then being trashed after a glass and a half of Chardonnay and rushing off to the loos to stare at photos of the progeny before making an excuse and bailing.
Still, she’s an old school-friend, and at least if it’s a short one it will be a cheap one.
Might message Drunk Stephen in case he’s around later…
I am grateful for:
Nature
Piccadilly line
Aziz