Post 457: That was a fine day.
I started the day with a job I’d been putting off and slowly mooched through the day with little (and one big) jobs, then went to bed happy.
That just about sums it up.
Thanks, bye.
Only joking…
The first job - well, the second really - was Mr Vicious, who wanted feeding and also demanded a few careful belly rubs.
I wasn’t slashed with his talons, which was a good start to the day.
But the real job was getting sorted for the U3A meeting tomorrow.
The Creative Writing Club, if that’s what it’s called, is where I’ll be going at 2.30 pm.
The Mini’s MOT is at 3 pm, so I’ve entrusted that to my great pal, who also happens to be my Mini guru.
It’s in good hands.
As for the U3A, I’m getting very nervous about my first proper appearance.
I’m nervous about everything.
Meeting the members.
Having my story looked at.
Wondering whether I’ll have to read it out.
Will it be good enough?
Is this even the right club for me?
Just a general nervousness about the whole English homework thing.
Just to remind you, I hated school.
I hated English the most.
The homework was hardly ever done, and I was ridiculed because of my struggles with comprehension and reading.
I felt dumb, and some kids made sure I felt dumb.
To be honest, I probably was.
I still struggle with reading because my eyes skip words, jump lines and sometimes I accidentally reread passages I’ve already read.
I’ve often wondered why that is, but whatever the reason, I’m a lot better than I used to be.
I’m reading better than I did then.
I’m writing better than I did then.
And, amazingly, I’m now able to do my homework.
This month’s assignment was a 400-word story entitled Mystery.
I wrote it on my phone and then, with my new printer, printed it over Wi-Fi straight from the phone for the very first time.
Wow!
How modern am I?
I only printed it because I wanted to copy it out neatly by hand into the exercise book I’ve bought for the club.
I really don’t know what happens there.
I’ll find out tomorrow when I go along and see for myself.
I’m dreading it.
Anyway, I’ve written up the story and now I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for this English lesson.
I hope.
I’m actually more nervous about the Mini.
She’s stood unused for well over a year since I started chemo last April, so I’m hoping there’s nothing too serious wrong with her.
This little car is my lifeline back to independence.
I’ll be able to get about on my own again.
Sharing My Darling’s car works perfectly well, but it isn’t quite the same.
Don’t get me wrong.
Her car is wonderful, with all the modern bells and whistles a new car ought to have.
But I’m perfectly happy with 1959 technology and the style of the classic Mini, as opposed to the BMW MINI.
So I’ll be delighted if Pebbles gets through the test.
But I’ll understand if she needs a little tweak here and there.
I was pleased to hear the front doorbell ring.
My Mini pal had arrived to fit some handbrake boots onto the handbrake levers that pass through the brake backplates.
After a mug of tea, of course.
All vehicle repairs start and finish with a brew.
With that done, I fancied entertaining ourselves by watching yesterday’s England v France bronze medal match from the World Cup.
Neither of us had watched it, and we really didn’t know why.
I suggested we watch it together, and My Darling agreed wholeheartedly.
I should confess now that I already knew the score.
I didn’t tell My Darling.
She assumed neither of us knew.
Which was exactly the plan.
I wanted her to experience it as though it were live.
What.
A.
Game.
The goals kept coming.
The game ebbed and flowed.
Then more goals.
Finally the whistle blew.
By gum…
What a match.
Both teams played football exactly as it should be played.
My Darling couldn’t believe how magical it turned out to be.
And yes…
I eventually admitted that I’d known the score all along.
Magic.
What a game.
I’d like to say the same about the final, but I can’t.
I gave up on it and retreated to the garage and my two Minis with all their paraphernalia.
There’s junk…
…and there’s important stuff that simply has to be kept.
Although, in some people’s eyes (My Darling’s especially), they’re exactly the same thing.
Anyway…
My junk.
My way of organising it.
So I happily spent an hour messing about in the garage, moving things around and convincing myself I was making progress.
I certainly had more fun than My Darling, who was enduring the gold medal match.
Eventually it was over.
My tidy-up was complete.
The gold medals had been deservedly won.
Everyone was happy.
I’d worn myself out, went to bed aching from the work I’d done and, after a dose of Oramorph, slept like a baby.
Take care.
Goodnight.
