It was sunny and mild today and I took my mother for a walk in the Botanic Gardens. Spring is in the air.
This afternoon our son was vacuuming the dining room and temporarily put the cushions on the table. Cassie liked this.
I have a cold, the kind that makes your nose and eyes stream and your teeth ache.
I had some friends round for the evening. We started teaching together in 1973 and the last one of them has applied to retire in June. This means that I shall be the only one still working. Sulk.
We’ve had social gatherings every couple of months since we met. We used to talk about men. Then children. Then teenagers. Then weddings. Now we discuss our pensions and our ailments. And in Jan’s case, her grandchildren.
I love our catlets dearly but I wish they’d stop scratching the wallpaper. So far they mainly do it in reasonably unseen corners of rooms, but – hmm. Dido, the cat of my youth, never did this.
Cats nowadays… what’s the world coming to?
Tomorrow I hope to do some gardening of the tidying variety: cutting down the dead stalks of perennials and removing last year's leaves, which lie which lie in a soggy brown blanket over snowdrops, crocuses and primroses in the back garden. Why is it that, even though I raked up all my leaves last autumn, I end up with a fresh supply at the end of the winter? It’s one of the mysteries of gardening.
This would have been my dad's 88th birthday, the first since he died.