Monday, July 1st
It’s of little consequence, but “Bumpy” Wainwright popped in this morning as he was passing, on his way to have his teeth examined. Apparently he still has almost all his own, which surprises me. He told me he’s been seeing a lady from town who showers him with gifts, mostly toiletries, and he’s worried it’s because she thinks he smells. I told him not to worry, and to take whatever was on offer as long as it wasn’t a disease of the sexual variety. He said she’s rather demure and hesitant in that department, and no bodily intimacy has occurred yet, but otherwise he’s happy enough to continue stocking up on smellies for the time being. He did indeed come across as very perfumed. In fact, I had to open a window, and when Cook brought in the coffee I could see her stagger momentarily as she came through the door as if she’d hit an invisible wall of aroma.
He asked me if I was planning to watch Wimbledon – I won’t, and not only because the television I have hasn’t worked since 2017. Sometimes I wonder if he knows who or what I am. As a teenager I used to enjoy watching the ladies’ tennis, but then I almost grew up and started to meet ladies in real life.
Melissa telephoned. She said she’s being repointed. I assume she means the house, but I can’t be sure.
Tuesday, July 2nd
A prestigious academic journal has asked me if I’m interested in writing about “the history of the voice in post-Renaissance poetic theory” – This is beyond being of no consequence because they’ve asked the wrong person. It appears they somehow or other got my name mixed up with someone with a very similar label. That doesn’t say much for their academic prowess, does it?.
Melissa telephoned. Cook says she was after pastry advice, so it’s good she took the call and not me: once I get started talking about pastry you might as well right off the rest of the day, because I can go on for hours.
The best bit of the day was Cook’s fishcakes for dinner. I have no idea how she does them, because she never goes fishing, as far as I know.
Wednesday, July 3rd
Turned on the wireless early this morning and crashed into “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”, the kind of tune you don’t expect to find on Radio 4 at that time of day and which you really don’t need to worm its way into your head first thing, because it’s one of those annoying tunes that stays with you. I would say it’s of little or no consequence, but it’s not. I had to have an almost overdose of bizarre thumping brutalist Avet Terterian to try to counteract it.
Melissa telephoned, and said she had toothache. I said sympathy-sounding words.
Thursday, July 4th
Up at 6.30. When you get up that early you’ve done most of what you planned to do in the day before Cook has prepared breakfast. I suppose it’s of little consequence, but it leaves the day as a great gaping hole waiting to be filled, though today there was the not insignificant matter of helping to decide the short- to mid-term fate of the nation. In the voting booth in the village hall I couldn’t see any obvious anarchists on the ballot paper, so had to plump for the usual option. I don’t know the person I voted for personally, thank goodness, and just hope they’re not too tedious.
Melissa telephoned to ask if I’d voted, and who did I vote for, and what do I think about such-and-such etc. I didn’t tell her how I voted. Surely she should be able to guess! Anyway, it’s private, and between me and my little wooden pagan idol.
Jethro has been cutting back hedgerows and bushes, which meant incessant noise from the electric power annoying petrol smelly bloody noisy whatever it’s called while he’s doing it. I think they can probably hear it into the next county (which actually isn’t very far away, but you get my drift). It’s the kind of racket that makes a nap impossible. . . but I didn’t like to tell Jethro not to do the work, because if I tell him not to do work who knows what it could lead to.
I plan to stay awake late – in bed – listening to the wireless to keep an eye on the politics, but I shall probably fall asleep before anything of importance happens.
Friday, July 5th
I went to bed last night to listen to the politics, and was asleep by 11.30. I woke up at 6, and the wireless was still on. At last! a socialist / left wing government! (I don’t see why a diary can’t have a chunk of sarcasm in it.) Anyway, this may be of consequence! Or not . . . But thank goodness those awful people have been kicked out, with their betting parties and trips to Rwanda and other nonsenses. Let’s hope the new lot don’t turn out to be a big disappointment. I wish I was an optimist.
In other news, saw a pair of goldfinches this morning, perched on a telephone wire, and then a jay deigned to visit the garden. Neither of these are common sights here, even though obviously we see a lot of birds, what with being rural and all.
Jethro has suggested we keep some chickens. He says he knows a chap who can help us set up the coop etc. though mostly they’ll range free – I assume that means he’ll leave their front door open so they can come and go as they please. He says he can get hold of some good birds. That sounds OK to me. I thought we maybe had chickens already somewhere in the grounds, but evidently I was mistaken. It may be of little consequence, but I like a nice fresh egg.
Melissa telephoned. She says she stayed up all night to follow the election, and is now very sleepy. So why telephone me? Go to bloody sleep!
Saturday, July 6th
It’s of no consequence, but I don’t feel like writing in this diary today, so I’m not.
Melissa telephoned.
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James Henderson (Gentleman)
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