On My Own
On
My Own
First thing last Monday morning, I watched from the
door as he strode round the corner out of sight. I could hear the wheels of his suitcase
rattling on the rough concrete of the lane.
I stood there until the sound faded into the distance. He was gone.
Did I care? Well, yes, I
did. I knew what would happen. He'd go straight to our daughter's place from
the airport, hoping she'd taken the afternoon off work so they could get
together once again to mull over what had been happening over the months
since we'd all been together. For a minute or two I wished I was in his
place.
It was not to be. I was alone in a foreign country with a
limited grasp of the language and a few tricky situations to negotiate. Could I manage without him? With a deep sigh, I closed the door and
wandered through the now silent house.
The idea of going back to bed – to sleeping the day away, was
appealing. I shook myself. That wasn't the way to go. I would fill my days with as many activities as possible. If I concentrated on completing all those day-to-day
jobs, I could fall into bed each night, exhausted. On the coffee table was the list I'd drawn up in the
middle of the night when, once again, insomnia reigned. First
job – paint the street side of the house.
The huge plastic vat of paint that I could hardly
shift waited for me in the utility room.
Just the thought of lifting it out of there to the street outside
was intimidating. Slowly, I dressed in
my painting clothes - an ancient, paint-spattered blue t-shirt long
enough to cover my stomach topped a pair of elasticated leggings that cut me in
half round the middle. With old, broken-down
trainers, I was ready.
The last thing I
wanted to do was to go into the street and paint our outside wall with
neighbours passing by every couple of minutes.
Of course, they would all stop to give their views on whether I was
doing it properly. Ignoring the snapping
and growling of our neighbours' ratty Jack Russell on a balcony a scant eight feet above my head, and the noise
of a nearby concrete mixer, I set to.
The neighbour's other dog, allowed to range up and down the street at
will, pissed on the section of wall I already painted. I snarled at him and did a reasonable impression
of an angry bark. He retreated just as
another neighbour emerged, bleary eyed, from his front door. He looked at me in amazement, shaking his
head and tucking his shirt into his trousers before disappearing round the
corner. Ten minutes later, his cheery
wife stopped beside me to offer a few words of encouragement.
Five hours later, I'd had enough of advice and encouragement,
so I put the paint, now weighing much
less, into our porch and closed the street door behind me. I knew it would take another two days to
finish the job, but I was hot, sweaty and covered in white paint. I had a headache from the constant noise from
the cement mixer and the dogs and all I could think of was a cool shower.
By this morning (Saturday), I was almost used to being
on my own. And I liked having complete
control over the remote. Strictly Come Dancing last night was
great. I laughed, moaned and groaned and
enjoyed every second. I'm getting used
to eating what I like, when I like, and I've been over-indulging in naughty,
forbidden treats. I'm more than half-way
though a five-pack of full-sized KitKats, and have demolished six out of ten
Mini Magnums (caramel and limoncello flavours).
And, if he knew how often I'd raided the wine rack he'd be having kittens!
The Rugby World Cup was great, although I got up far too early to watch England and Scotland play so I actually watched most of the France/Tonga
match first. Tonga were brilliant! Then, after a rough, tough and nail-biting
match, England finally got their act together in the last ten minutes and beat
Scotland. Bring on the quarter-finals
and France.
I'd been up for hours and it was still only
10:30. So, I settled down to a relaxing
day writing and reviewing on my resurrected computer. Yes,
there is a God. This laptop was well and
truly dead after I spilled red wine into it mid-August. From time-to-time, I did try switching it on – more in hope than expectation and
yesterday, after much faffing, hoping and praying, I finally got it to work
again. Big grins and huge sighs of
relief. It is only five months old and no
way could I afford a new one.
3:00 pm. Flicked
on the TV to find a movie about football.
Goal II: Living the Dream. I enjoyed it.
I've never watched a football movie, so a first for me.
When you are on your own, you can eat when you want,
so, time for pizza. Well, it was ages since
breakfast. For the first time, I was
faced with the challenge of a whole Dr Oeteker's pizza all by myself. OK, what with the wine as well, it was a bit
of a struggle, and I dread to think what my waistline will be like after almost
a week of pleasing myself what and when to eat and drink, but it is sooo good to be able to please yourself
what you do and when you do it it's worth it.
For the moment, at least.
Five-thirty, and I'm looking forward to the second Strictly in two days. I have the remote to hand and nothing will stop
me from enjoying every second. Last
night's programme was great, but I do love a celebrity to hate and I liked them
all. Perhaps tonight one of the
remaining seven will get on my nerves sufficiently for me to 'hate' them for
the series. Don't think I can manage much
more food or drink, so maybe a cuppa and half a KitKat a bit later.
6:00 pm in Spain. That's 5:00 pm in the UK. It's
a while before Strictly and I'm
beginning to get a bit bored. I wish he
was home. I know he'll be having a great
time without me, and that makes me feel ever-so-slightly sad. Roll on Monday. I can't wait to hear the rumble of his suitcase
coming back round the corner. Or, maybe
I'll walk along to the car park and wait there for him. The bar is just a few steps away and we'll
have plenty to talk about. A week alone
is enough. I'll happily relinquish the remote, and I've probably had enough chocolate
now to last me until Christmas, so it'll be back to healthy eating and sharing
the wine. Now, what time does his flight
get in...
