Outburst

The sun has returned this morning, so I plan to do some more gardening at Cherry Burton, with luck I should finish off the front garden, at least for a while. After breakfast and a shower, Norman and I collect the terriers for our walk on the common and arrive down Newbald Road by half past nine. Although it is sunny, there is a cold easterly wind and I am grateful for the sweater that I have draped around my shoulders, putting it on when we leave the woods and the meadow and feel the full effect of the wind. I am still in shorts and sandals, but somehow my feet and legs never seem to mind the cold. Probably because I am from that generation of boys who wore short pants all year round, until the second year in Grammar school, when I turned thirteen. It is lovely walking weather and I would much rather stay out here than garden, but needs must, so we make our way back to the car and return to Two Riggs for eleven, where, after giving the dogs water and biscuits, I unload my tools from the boot of the Chrysler and begin weeding the other flower beds at the front of the house. It is hot work, as this   side of the house is sheltered from the east wind, so after half an hour, I pop indoors and ask Pip if it is OK to make myself a pot of tea. The vehemence of her response shocks me and I find myself on the receiving end of a fierce verbal assault, the substance of which was that she wanted to go out on Tuesday and I gardened too long. The real reason is that she has still not accepted any responsibility for my decision to leave and this was a vent for a lot of pent up anger. It is almost three years since we separated, from my perspective, precisely because of her anger, which I had finally realised, controls her and cannot be appeased. Since then I have left her in possession of the house, until she decides to move, paid all the bills and continued to provide her with exactly the same allowance and housekeeping funds, as when I lived with her. In addition, I maintain the gardens and walk the dogs. Usually she ignores me, retreating to the lounge when I collect Dolly and Teddy. The confrontation leaves me shaken and somewhat enraged about the injustice of it all. She wants me to limit my gardening to two hours today, as she wants to go out and won't permit me to do it when she isn't in. I finish off the work at the front of the house, trimming the ivy and cottoneaster round the windows and then at one o'clock, pack my things away and leave. I have some serious thinking to do about my relationship, or lack of it, with my estranged wife. I take Norman home, make myself a sandwich for lunch, and then drive back into Beverley to buy Louis a card for his sixth birthday, on Saturday. Sarah and her boyfriend, Richard, are taking Louis and Richard's daughter, Charlotte, to Legoland near Windsor for the weekend. So I want to give Louis his birthday card and present tomorrow. Sarah suggested that I give him some money, as he has too many games and toys and football gear already, so I have given him forty pounds, twenty to spend at Legoland and twenty for his "Millionaire fund", which is what Sarah calls the trust fund that was set up under Gordon Brown. I buy a card for him in "Paperchase", it has a picture of a puppy dressed as Superman with goggley eyes, and says "To a Super Grandson", six is a little too young for subtlety and art. Or is it? I return home feed Normy and then walk him as far as the farm. After dinner I read more of Patrick Gale and by bed time have reached a decision about Pip. I believe it is finally time to move on, seeing me almost every day is clearly unpleasant for her and not easy for me either. Andrew is living at home and can help with the dogs, who I shall miss, and the garden. Failing that she can either do it herself, or pay someone else, as she is amply provided for. As usual! I decide to sleep on my decision and see how I feel about it in the morning.