On Monday, we had natural disasters. Dot, Judy and I drove in appalling weather to Holy Trinity to hear a distinguished scientist from the Royal Society talk about whether natural disasters were acts of God. He seemed a very pleasant fellow, and much of what he said was interesting, though hardly original. I would liked to have disputed his view of climate change, but the atmosphere was wrong (see what I did there?). Dot asked a question on whether things were all that different now compared with the past, but he misunderstood it, probably accidentally.
On Tuesday I made it to the Archant coffee morning, but Dot was deflected by the Diocese: she has been extremely busy this week. Quite a pleasant time; spoke to Paul quite a bit afterwards and then went to pay in church cheques at the TSB and buy some Christmas cards at Revelations. I decided to abandon my pedantic objections to having the three kings on Christmas cards because they didn’t come at Christmas. Just another example of one of those myths becoming so widely accepted that it’s futile pointing out that it’s wrong.
On Wednesday I at last managed to obtain my prescription pills – just in time, because I was on my last Perindropril. The chemist had forgotten to put my order through to the surgery last week; so I had to remind them on Monday. They were apologetic. On leaving the chemist I was phoned by Dot, who had been having lunch with Carrie (plus a bit of shopping) and had arrived home without a key. Fortunately I wasn’t too far away…
Earlier I had bought some Christmas stamps at the sorting office and taken a walk through the Rosary – a few weeks since I’d been up there. While there I got the inspiration for a poem. Lost count of how many poems the Rosary has inspired..
Thursday was the maddest of several mad days for Dot. She was supposed to finish with a governors’ meeting at Little Plumstead, but when she arrived home from Catfield at 5.30pm, we realised she had left her phone behind – the realisation coming mainly because the Find Friends app said she was still there. She thought she must have dropped it at the side of the road where she almost fell over, and foolishly I let her go back to look for it, as I was cooking dinner.
Obviously (about five minutes after she left) I realised it would have made a lot more sense for me to have gone with her, or at least have lent her my phone. As it was, we were out of contact. I kept checking to make sure no-one had picked it up, and eventually Dot arrived at Catfield – happily, to find the school open; so she was able to ring me. At first she couldn’t find the phone, but then I enlarged the Find Friends map, which in combination with Google Earth seemed to indicate it was inside the building. I rang back to tell her, but when she answered she said she had just found it – in the toilet. Well, not actually in the toilet, but in the small room housing the toilet.
I had rung Little Plumstead to say she wouldn’t make it to the meeting. This was a Good Thing. I am trying to persuade Dot to stop being a governor, because it’s so time-consuming.
Tonight we are having the vicar and Judy for a meal. We are not trying to pair them off. We have been to Morrisons and Dot is now making a cake, because she knows he is coming (literary reference). There will ensue a mad dash to clean the house. Later I will be cooking a child con carne. Actually that’s a chilli con carne. I rarely cook children. Predictive text can cause all sorts of trouble, particularly as it has no way of knowing it’s being extremely stupid.
Speaking of stupid, we are now bombing Syria, a small country far away of which we know little.