river garden
Moving house is horrendous.
Especially, as I have recently discovered, when you’re dealing with two houses: one which needs to be empty, respectable and ready for new tenants to move in. The other which requires you fitting an entire house-worth of contents into one (small’ish but perfectly proportioned) bedroom. Worse so, when you have to temporarily re-home your darling cat at the last minute.
Let’s not talk about it. I’ll probably cry. And I’ll be doing enough of that at the weekend when I take him a couple of hundred miles up North to my Mum’s.
So yep. I’ve had enough of moving now. Enough of yet to be unpacked boxes, and lawn mowing, and skirting board dusting, and electricity plug scouting, and kitchen light mysteries, and digging around in the garage for liquidiser jugs (essential for morning smoothie making: of course).
I’m just sitting instead.
Taking some time out. Somehow it’s easier with water close by. And I couldn’t be any closer. There’s a long tow path which runs along the back of Albany Mews so the River Lea is now my back garden (doesn’t ever need mowing). And yes. I’m feeling a little bit smug.
Despite work being crazy; car engines overheating (and smoking: slight concern, especially with the imminent trip to York); smashing huge (glass) wok lids to smithereens (yep, just 2 hours ago); cooking Bolognese at 11pm to avoid mince going off (because the one working fridge is chocca block: the other one – which would make food storage semi-sensible – has been out of order for ‘…a while’); and not being able to find a single solitary hair bobble anywhere. Despite it all, I’m totally relaxed. A river could heal a thousand problems.
Listening to calm, watery silence and drinking hot water from a huge friendly snowy owl mug. The midnight breeze is gently teasing the wind chimes before rushing over to dance with escapee strands of my hair-wrapped-around-hair-makeshift-hair-tie. I’m wrapped in a blanket and tip tap tapping away as the water flows on by.
I was considering a trip away on my 15th July week of Annual Leave (35th Birthday imminent) but, what the hell, I might just sit here by the river, instead.
There’s wee ripple (I’m allowed to say that because I’ve just moved into Rachel from Belfast’s room) skidding across the surface and, just now, a fish momentarily dunked it’s body above water before plopping back into the inky deep.
Not a bad way to say goodnight.