The What-Is-It Fair
Diarium Absurdi – Entry 3
9th February. Monday morning. I’ve had a mixed weekend.
“Si vis amari, ama.” (If you want to be loved, love). – Ovid, Amores
The What-Is-It Fair was interesting. A lot of sellers had driven up from the South of England and had brought with them an array of interesting items, stuff that you rarely see up here in the North East. I had a fair bit of cash on me thanks to having found a purchaser for the those bottles of nettle-sting wine I produced two years ago. Percy Preece lives in Stanhope and has always praised my wine making skills and has frequently told me that he’ll buy any excess stock I have.
Edwina was ecstatic all day long. As soon as we arrived at the fair, she informed me that she’d meet me “back in the car park” in three hours, not giving me any chance to negotiate an alternative time or place. She disappeared quickly into the crowd, almost dancing as she walked. I only bumped into her a few times. Once when she was eating a cream bun, once when she was talking to Dr Shadows and a last time when she had her foot stuck in a bucket. I didn’t stop to ask her how that happened. She did tell me on the way home but I won’t repeat it as it was quite uninteresting.
So, what did I purchase with my nettle-sting money? Before I tell you, I just want to quickly celebrate the selling of the Mug You Can’t Throw Away. The purchaser signed the receipt to say that he was taking ownership of the accursed cup. I’m hoping this will be enough to keep it from reappearing back in my tea-cupboard.
Before I continue I want to tell you some good news. As I passed Edwina and Dr Shadows, I overheard them discussing the reopening of Plughole Seminary. I thought I must have misheard and checked with Edwina as we drove home. I had not misheard. The old academy reopened its doors to students last September. For the moment they only have two students but are hoping that with the March intake, the old lecture halls will begin to fill again. More importantly, they’re going to start some evening classes for the general public. Edwina wasn’t clear about when the classes would start. Most of them sounded remarkably uninteresting, except one. Dry Stone Walling within Fae Jurisdiction, (if Edwina got the name right), sounds like a course I could engage with. I will need to investigate this matter more.
My main purchase is being delivered this afternoon. I also bought a very old Swiss cuckoo clock, a pair of winter socks and seven jars of homemade lemon curd. I tasted a sample of the curd and it was absolutely delicious. “That’ll be nice on my homemade bread,” Edwina said on the way home. I had to agree. I think she expects me to go round in a few days’ time with a jar. “I’ll telephone you when I’ve done some baking,” she said, as I dropped her off.
Sunday was full of rain and heavy cloud with only a very brief moment of sunshine. I need to get out in the garden and do some pruning before spring lands and the sap begins to rise. Last year I forgot and had to suffer the sight of overgrown bushes all summer long. The bees were happy though. The bushier bushes led to an over-production of flowers. A lot more honey was made, I’m sure.
Sunday
The over-excitement of Saturday led to a quiet, contemplative Sunday. I took the car for a drive and ended up at the Derwent Reservoir – a rather beautiful lake a little bit beyond Blanchland. There were several large flocks of geese chanting like Buddhist monks, filling the natural calmness with a most wonderful and spiritual sound. The lake also attracts a good number of fishermen who were standing like reeds at the waterside looking out at their lines in perfect postures of deep meditation. I took my notebook and wrote a few thoughts down.
I love this place. Sometimes you just have to sit some-where that isn’t your usual where. A place that says things in different ways. Trees that have composed a different kind of music. A fence that disappears into lake water. Long, dead grass that’s waving its tall, thin fingers, composing poems in the air. Five sheep are grazing, they’re parked like ornaments on a grassy mantlepiece. Oh, to be in this February spirit, this hopeful spirit, looking forward to spring but not letting go of this driftwood afternoon in winter.
Rain. Quite heavy. What a miracle that everything fits so neatly together. Everything has its reason, its purpose. From the scribbling grass and musical trees, to the rain and my pen and the thoughts that flow through my ink onto the awaiting page.
Sunday night I read some of Ovid’s poetry and thought about love. After four wives I now find myself on my own. Did I do something wrong? The clock has managed to put up with me all these years. I can’t be blamed for its arthritis. I’ve put a jar of lemon curd aside for when Edwina phones. I love freshly-baked bread.
I will now go and paint the study ceiling. I’m hoping to get the first coat finished before the delivery of my main purchase from the fair. I won’t tell you what it is yet. I’m excited but also very apprehensive. I’m not sure where I’m going to keep it. It has spent the last fifteen years in its present owner’s understairs cupboard. I wonder what Mimsy will think of it?