That sounds like a terrible euphemism.
This is, of course, the country born for shabby chic. Chipped paint is de rigueur and the wonky, the dappled, the haphazard, the hit-and-miss, the rusted are all celebrated here. I even tried to straighten this image up but realised either the wood is at an angle or the letterbox is at an angle or I was at an angle. Imperfection rules.
Mostly this week has been a quiet one, trying to catch up with things I didn’t do last year. Long hours and not much time for play. It was also the week when we said goodbye again to Maddie, the daughter of one of my friends. She died a year ago at the age of ten, following a catastrophic and unpredictable anaphylactic shock. It left so many people bereft and there are still no words that convey the impact on her family.
Last night, the heavens truly opened – funnily enough I seem to recall the same thing last year in the wake of Maddie’s death. It was like the skies cried with us. Today is my refuge day. I have plans, but I think the number of dogs that arrived yesterday may change that. Plus, I think the clouds are set to return this afternoon.
I could do with a bit of brightness and an end to mopping. Four dogs cause a lot of mud. The couches are covered with towels, but it doesn’t stop everything getting yuck anyway. I’ve taken to walking the four on leads most of the time just because it stops them getting quite so dirty. Yesterday, a weed blew across our path and I nearly got pulled along by 110kg of dogs who wanted to investigate. Will be glad when the rain stops and the mud disappears. The way I’m writing about it makes it sound like colossal mud-slides. It feels like that when I’m mopping twice a day.