There have been horrendous winds round these parts. It has rained for the best part of three weeks (and the water company just HAVE to send a €200 bill right now, don’t they??!) and according to Steve, the river has come back. Last night, I thought the windows were going to come through. It’s been windy enough to blow the horns off cows, as they say round these parts, and raining spears and ropes.
It’s not particularly cold, but we’re going through wood like nobody’s business trying to get dogs/clothes/boys dry. Steve’s room is down to 10 degrees, mine to 13. But with my double duvets, bedtime fleeces, socks, hot water bottles and shawl, I’m warm enough. In fact, it’s so warm it makes me not want to get out of bed because I know how cold it is out there.
It has been a shit, shit week. The chickens were all abducted – the only thing left were feathers, and though there was no blood, no bits of chicken left and very few feathers, it was clear what had happened. Couple that with two HoooooooogE bills, a couple of other payments needing to be made, wood running out, trying to weed in the pouring rain, it wasn’t the best of birthdays. Grrr. Luckily I had plenty of birthday wishes to cheer me up. Steve bought me a set of books in French about wine, so I can try to impress people with my knowledge of Pomerol. I’ll never be able to afford to drink it, but I’ll know about it. That happens a lot in my life.
Whether it’s the dark nights, or the pathetic fallacy of all this wind and rain stirring up emotions, whether it’s delightful companies sending you whack-off great big bills when you’ve been SO frugal, chicken feathers and no chickens, be gentle with me. Sometimes, I feel like running outside and yelling at the sky.
But I think the universe would send a single magpie to shit in my eye, so I will stay inside and hope that the wind doesn’t blow the roof off the house.