Autumn is coming, and the walnuts are getting fat. The mirabelles are starting to yellow, the weather has mercifully cooled a little, and the house feels astonishingly empty after last week. When a baby granddaughter leaves, her entourage of must-have equipment goes with her.
For a week, the hallway looked like a branch of Mothercare during a Spring sale: trolleys, pool ring, babymat, feeding cloths, boxes, boxes containing more boxes. Having a child these days will bankrupt a person before even the first birthday is achieved.
Opening the fridge was like going into a macrobiotic hypochondriac’s cabinet. Fluids of various hue, off-white things, steamed things, things with gunk in them, things floating in antispectic liquids, and things which I can’t get past ‘thing’ as a description because I still have no idea what they were. The dishwasher revealed the complete range of Russian dolls but composed of clear plastic. A…
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