Small victories

Wake around seven to another cold, grey, day. Make a full English breakfast and strong Yorkshire tea and eat this in the garden room. The rabbits and pheasants are carrying on as usual and my garden robin is sat on the bird bath defying all challengers. The weather is set to improve from tomorrow and I resolve to have a full spring clean, put my winter gear away and get out my summer shorts and shirts. First I have some paperwork to deal with, that I have been neglecting for the last ten days, so after a shave and a shower, work my way through it, and make a hit list of people to ring on Monday morning. This done I drive to Molescroft for ten fifteen to collect my friend Leslie, he enjoyed the change of venue from Caffe Nero to Skidby Windmill last Sunday, so I recommend the excellent cafe at the Cherry Croft garden centre in Tickton. So good is this cafe, that the garden centre owners have closed the external entrance to force people through the garden centre, in the hope they will buy something. Too many people, like me, just patronise the cafe. Leslie gets a table for us, with two leather bucket seats, and I queue and order our coffee and cake. The place is nearly full, but we parked without a problem and were served within minutes. Apart from doing our usual review of the social, political and economic events of the week, the question of Leslie's birthday comes up. He is ninety next month, and mentally as sharp as ever, but he feels that if people know he is ninety, they will automatically assume he is a bit gaga. He has been studiously avoiding any celebration of his birthday for this reason, but his nephew and niece, from Hampshire have preempted him and booked a surprise lunch at Cerruti's in Beverley, which he has found out about. It's his favourite restaurant, and despite his protestations, he is secretly delighted. I drop him back home for half eleven and head back to Tickton. Once home, I change into an old track suit and plan my action. The first thing necessary, is to clear a working space, somewhere to pack things away and store things, whilst I work my way through the house. The garage is the obvious candidate, it is too small to take my Chrysler, and although I intend to downsize, I won't be able to afford this until the house in Cherry is sold. Over the winter the garage has accumulated all sorts of junk, and there is sawdust everywhere, blown in by the wind, under the door when the joiners replaced the garden fence and gate after the old one blew down in a gale. So the first job is to empty the garage, moving everything into the garden, and giving the place a thorough clean out. When this is done, then putting things back on the plentiful shelves and hooks, leaving the floor clear. Next, I bring in the six foot garden table, which will come in handy as a surface for packing and unpacking plastic storage boxes. There are about thirty of these, either in the garage or in the house from when I moved in, a little over a year ago. I have rounded up about twenty empty ones and stacked these next to the garden table. My working space is ready, but it's half past three already, so time to take a break for some lunch. I knocked up a beef curry and popped it in the slow cooker when I got in from church last night and I bought some whole meal chapattis in the supermarket on Friday, so all I need to do is warm these through in a dry frying pan. I'm an old hand with chapattis, so I open the kitchen window to let the smoke out from the cooking and close the door to stop the smoke alarm from going off. Curry demands lager and I bought two large bottles of Heineken, and drink one of these with lunch, desert is tinned peaches and yogurt. After lunch I rest for an hour, make a pot of tea, and start work again at six. First, packing away all my heavy winter coats, fleeces, sweaters and shirts, and then moving on to pack away corduroy trousers, winter walking and running gear. This done, I clear most of the shelves and wardrobes in the bedroom and garden room. The boxes full of winter gear are sealed, mothproofed, labelled and stacked on shelves in the garage. Call it a day about eleven, and retire feeling something has been achieved. I can tackle a room at a time now, at my own pace, without the house being a muddle for days. Of such small victories are happy lives constructed.