where art collides

The bedside clock showed 6:00. Six am. It entered my head that this was a fairly pure number. It seemed whole, had beauty. It was nothing to do with the time of day. Just the numbers 6:00 in green right there next to my head on the pillow.

As these thoughts assembled the clock changed to 6:01. I felt robbed, mildly. I didn’t get the whole minute. Must have caught it some way through the sixty seconds. The incident was strong enough to stick in my mind for me to record it downstairs a short time later. 

The 6:01 prompted me to get up. Things to do. Busy day ahead with our Annual Christmas Market Party. We gather around the fire in our front room and sing carols. It’s a fantastic evening. I don’t do the religious thing but I do  do the carol singing. I love singing carols. 

The ingredients for the beef stew for tomorrow’s lunch have now been assembled on the chopping block in the middle of the kitchen. These include some of my home grown onions and garlic. Deeply satisfying. The beef isn’t home grown. That wouldn’t be practical but the other ingredients could be. Even the Timothy Taylors Landlord could be a home brew although the taste would not be the same. 

The streaky bacon would have been doable. Our old house in Greetwell Gate used to have a pigsty out the back. The deeds had a clause allowing us to keep a pig. Never did. My grandmother used to keep a pig but they changed the law saying it had to be slaughtered in an abattoir and that killed off the home grown pig industry, so to speak.

Our front room is in dire need of a tidy. It has been a dumping ground for things that need to be packed away somewhere. Some of my dad’s stuff. Four boxes of glasses we bought for general purpose party use. The supermarkets have stopped lending out glasses. I bought 96 wine glasses and 96 tumblers. They will need a home after tonight.

Anyway the tea is made. I’m off back upstairs.

I lay in bed this morning debating whether to just stay there or get up and go downstairs. Bed was warm and cosy and last night there had been frost on the ground so downstairs, before the heating had kicked in, didn’t necessarily feel quite as attractive. 

It’s one of those situations where your mind feels somehow trapped in its surroundings. It was dark except for the clock radio and the little light filtering in around the edges of our heavy bedroom curtains and my eyes were closed anyway.

I put my specs on. This brings the darkness into focus, strangely, even if I close my eyes. Putting my specs on is a precursor to getting up. I took them off again and laid them quietly back on the bedside table. Sod it, I put them back on and up I got.

Had a quick look around the media. Doesn’t take long. Some chubby jowled fat cat won the Bexley by election for the Tories. Man U scraped a win against Arsenal. Nothing of any consequence. No knighthood for Trefor Davies “Boy will he be surprised when he finds out,” says Queen. No surprise there then 🙂

A Lordship would be more useful. It would get my expenses paid on trips to London. Just have to pop my head round the door of the House of Lords, wave at some of my peers, sign the register and head out for some Christmas shopping and a spot of lunch. Sorted.

Would probs do without the Christmas shopping bit. That’s not my department. I did buy my own birthday present (might have been the Christmas present) last time I was in London. Some shaving kit from Sweyn Forkbeard’s in Camden Market. Badger hair shaving brush, soap and stand. This was donated by me to Anne to give to me as a present yesterday when she declared she had no idea what to get me.

All I really want for Christmas is a couple of pairs of nice warm cotton pyjamas. My stock request from the kids is for them to write me a letter. I don’t need anything bought, but everyone likes to give something tangible don’t they? Except when it’s a feelgood “goat for African villager” type of present.

I think we may have given a goat one year. Not sure. I did plant 500 trees last week. Check it out here. I have to go and make the tea.