As I type this, I am hurtling backwards towards London accompanied by Capuçon playing Bach’s Partita No. 3 for solo violin (a lucky score in a random selection downloaded on my last trip – I had not hitherto heard of the fellow but Dr Google has opined and he is a rather dishy frenchman). I am currently wishing that I had bothered to reassign my seat to facing forwards. If I throw up on the keyboard and abandon the project I shall have only myself to blame. It’s been a while since my last confession so where to begin…. Probable with the unfilial (or possible all too filial) sentiments that let to the completion of the one true and only Berwickshire Salt Path (a film with a book tie in to follow once I can secure Helen Mirren to play the Inscrutible Mother and someone less glamorous for my good self).
You may recall me mentioning the razing of the aged mater’s back garden to ground zero (and the relocation of her floral collection to Carol’s Bar on the high street, also pictured below). Well, a fortnight ago, with the fences now largely in, a decision on the patio and paths became pressing. The original plan, as discussed with the builders before they started, was tossed firmly in the bin and Mum began to review her extensive gardening library. (It is notable that Phil the Builder was heard to groan at the mention of “looking at books”, this is clearly not his first rodeo).
A picture was eventually found (circular patio with paths in and out inscribing an elongated “S”. ) The lads on site sprayed it out in yellow whilst we were walking the dog. It was definitely wrong. Too wiggly (mum) and too narrow (me) given mum’s tendency to allow plants to spill onto the path. The lad who is not Jim made it bigger in white. She resolved to sleep on it. Next day, enduring directions of unsurpassable clarity such as “a bit less you know….” and “not like that”, I lugged a dusty hose around the garden laying it in many, many different “S” shapes to get the right line. The ever patient not-Jim moved the digger round the corner as she could not get the right “sense” with a digger in the middle of the background. The nose wrinkled it’s verdict. It was still not right. The hose path was too narrow. I pointed out, with a degree of asperity, that “there was only so much bloody hose” and suggested through firmly gritted teeth that to get the length, she had to imagine the width. We left for the evening with tempers high and, in my case, hose dust all over my nose.
A new day dawned with a new diagram – this time a curvy watch strap. This design looked hose proof so I went to the co-op and came back with two family size packets of salt. We measured up in acrimony and I carefully traced the chosen paths in salt in simmering silence – upside down. I erased the lines and started again. Also wrong, this time too like the diagram, which clearly had a secret second set of curves obvious to anyone not looking at it. Salt I ran out. We broke out Salt II and continued….too narrow, too wide… Mum frowned and then opined in accusing tones that it looked different further out than it did closer in. “Well done” I muttered slightly too loudly “you have discovered perspective” . Eventually, we reached a grudging agreement that, with barely a teaspoon left, I would be permitted to paint around the salt mark with the marking paint left by not Jim. She would sleep on it. Jim and not Jim would be asked to remeasure….properly.
I left Mum this morning complaining to Jim (not Jim being unavailable) that it would all be so much easier in grass because she could just nibble away at the edge until it was right. Jim manfully resisted the urge to comment and promised to chase up Phil for a slab brochure so we can open the ‘which slabs and whether paviers’ can of worms on my return. So that’s three Hail Monty Dons for impatience for me. Luckily for me the Blessed Mother has only one chick so I am already forgiven, whether I deserve it or not.
In other news, the thistles are coming out and the harvest is coming in. My own harvest of foraged meadowsweet has already been converted to cordial and the first of the blackcurrants bottled. With the resumption of classes looming at the end of the month, morning pilates has recommenced (sometimes). Lyra joined in last week but found it so exhausting she had to nap after the floor exercises. Yesterday she joined me again, but went straight to the relaxation/sleeping set and snored gently whilst I puffed and then wobbled on one leg. I have contemplated heavier weights. Contemplation has, disappointingly, not made any impact on the scales so I may need to move to phase 2 (Serious Contemplation). Anyway we are now at York so I shall sign off for a snack break.
