Fridges, Chicken, And Basic Hygiene
Spook and I don’t spend a lot of time together other than dinner and tv. He has Tuesdays and Wednesdays off and I don’t, so when our Meg was coming over with her lovely Irishman for 2 weeks recently, we both took some holiday leave. We discovered that it’s quite nice to be around each other. Being on my own is something I’m particularly good at and it’s useful to discover that I’m still able to share that time with anyone other than my dog and my pal - Running Girl. It’s possible that both Spook and I spend more time with RG than we do with each other - he and the dog run with her on his days off and I drink tea with her on mine.
I regularly maintain that I could easily live alone.
At 7.10am last Monday this theory was thrown into disarray when Spook went to work. By 7.30am I had blown the toaster, the air fryer, the fridge and the internet. By 8am, determined to thrive alone, I had dragged an old fridge in from my studio/van and had washed the mouldy shelves and scraped and scrubbed the paint from the top of it where my easel had been propped. I had loads of cooking to do and it needed a fridge to preserve it once cooked. There was no time to lose. A kind of frenzied panic had set in. There had been much crashing about pulling fridges in and out of position, mouldy glass shelving slipping off uneven surfaces falling noisily onto laminate flooring, and soapy fridge parts dripping everywhere. By 8.15am the dog was sitting halfway up the stairs with a toy stuffed in his mouth, a look of panic in his soft brown eyes
Having picked up my text message about impending disaster, Spook phoned me. As he didn’t have a wet kipper to hand, he had to use calm, reassuring words (‘you need a slap with a wet kipper’ is his go to suggestion if I’m having a meltdown.)
He managed to talk me through getting the fuse box reset and the appliances all working again. Except the internet. He said he’d call later.
When he called back, I was making a lasagne on the stove top and chopping up a chicken for a curry. He believed this to be a good point to get me to pull out the Ikea unit on which the internet clobber sits and the wires hide behind. In front of the unit there are umbrellas, shoes, spare window blinds, a small tv, a dismantled Hoover and an ironing board. I yelled – “I can’t deal with the internet just now cos I’ve got you on my phone in one hand, and chicken in the other and shite all over the place.” He pictured me holding a live chicken by the legs and poop everywhere - with reason gone altogether, he just had to let it go. If I had calmed down and listened, I’d have seen that the power cable to the internet had slipped out and just needed plugged in.
Knowing whether I’m losing the plot, menopausal or have ADD, is hard to gauge. My daughter suggests that all are possible. Yesterday I had a Mexican stand off with the dog who wanted to take Spooks training shoe for a walk. When I eventually won the argument, I sat the trainer on the roof of the car which we were standing next to and went for the walk. When we got home, I decided to nip to M&S for nibbles and beer for Spook, who would be coming home from an exhausting day. As I pulled up to M&S I suddenly remembered the shoe on the roof of the car. It wasn’t there. I’d have to search for it on the drive home.
I was browsing in the veg department (as I didn’t want to be seen going straight to the crisps and alcohol section which was all I wanted) when I met a friend and told him about the shoe. He was empathetic and shared his own story about sitting his iPhone on his tractor while he refuelled and then drove over it with the 3.5-ton tractor. With a lack of empathy I pointed out that whilst I might get away with menopause claims, he was probably just stupid.
On the way home, I had 2 roundabouts to fully navigate which meant going round in circles while the dog braced himself for multiple revolutions and looked like he might be sick. I scoured the verges, drove like a lost tourist, scanned the driveway, and finally the yard. No trainer. I turned the ignition off feeling crestfallen and glanced at the passenger footwell. Where the trainer was sitting in plain sight.
Our Running Girl heads off on her 3 month cycle adventure to France and Ireland tonight. Spook and I have no idea how we will cope. He now must find the enthusiasm to run with just the dog and get much needed Ben Race training without his mentor. I must remember to take a shower. I have to take a shower on a Sunday because I’m freezing after the cold dip in the loch which she makes me do and I have absolutely no intention of doing while she’s away. And then I usually remember on a Wednesday that it’s halfway through the week and I probably need to shower again. Without such indicators I’ll easily let such basic hygiene routines lapse. Spook moving into the spare room will perhaps be the ‘take a shower’ indicator but it’s uncharted territory.
Have an amazing adventure, Sara.
