We got up this morning to a light overnight dusting of snow. It was still bitterly cold, and as R had to be in Stratford this morning for an appointment with his optometrist, I thought it would be a nice thing for me to spend that time in Holy Trinity churchyard, putting out food for the resident birds. I had plenty of takers – mostly Robins, but also some Blue, Great, and Coal Tits, and a single Dunnock – but in truth the birds there are fed pretty frequently by a number of different people, and I don’t think they were exactly desperate for my contribution. I realised that they were a long way from starvation when I saw a Coal Tit rummaging through a pile of ground food on a monument to find its favourite bits, and throwing the rejects to either side, where they fell to the ground and were snapped up by waiting Grey Squirrels.
R’s eye appointment included the prescription and ordering of a new pair of distance glasses, which he needs urgently, and took the entire morning. By the time he caught up with me I’d already done churchyard and coffee, and had now moved to Gail’s, the café on the High Street where I was contemplating getting some lunch. The two of us were just finishing quiche and coffee (my third caffeine hit of the day) when R’s optometrist walked past and greeted us. Even though I was aware – theoretically – that this was someone who’d been best friends with Child One back when they were in first school, it was still a shock to suddenly find myself face to face with a man in his mid thirties, who in my head is still about ten years old. That thing they say about knowing you’re getting old when lawyers/doctors/policeman start looking young, is at the very least squared when your husband is being treated by a highly-trained professional whose seventh birthday party you remember attending.
Strange days…
R: L2, C3, D18.
