After Scribble had her say yesterday it seems only fair that the one known so far as 'She who says sign there, there, there and there' gets a few words in.
Since Mike became self-employed (he's not retired, I am making sure of that!) there has been a major change in our relationship. We've been together for 30 years and throughout that time he has worked almost every Saturday as well as one or two Sundays each month. As a result we have had very few weekends together and when that did happen we didn't waste them on house-work or food shopping as they were too precious to be taken up with chores.
Over the years I've had time on Saturdays, firstly to myself, then they were spent with the children as they grew up and in recent years they've become the day when, apart from a visit to the supermarket and as little housework as I could get away with, I get a bit of freedom to do what I enjoy. Danny Baker and Fighting Talk in the morning, a leisurely read of the Saturday Times, ideally a visit to the local library, a quick 40 winks and an afternoon spent making patchwork quilts and listening to the football on Radio 5 live.Bliss!
But since early November all that changed and we've had time at the weekends to explore deepest Norfolk, the farmers markets and farm-shops,the small towns and villages around here and the local pubs; all in the name of research, of course.
However, today the old routine was back, at least in parts. I was able to pick up a copy of the Times for the first time in a month - there are no shops in the village. And a trip to the supermarket for food, albeit accompanied by one who went through all the loaves on the shelf to find the one that was baked most recently!
After lunch I swopped the sewing for grouting the kitchen floor, whilst listening to the warm Geordie voice of John Murray on FA Cup 3rd round afternoon and followed the twist and turns of the would-be giant killers trying to knock out the big fish as I squeezed grout in between 67 tiles (still on half-way).
I suppose that I should be reassured that despite two house moves last year and now living over 200 miles from my life-long Sussex roots, that some things never change; when I do finally get a chance to listen to the football on the radio one of the biggest shocks of the 3rd round happens when my team, Sunderland, get knocked out (deservedly by all accounts) by Notts County, 52 places below them in the league.
I used to be able to keep some of my team's dodgier results quiet, but now that 'He, who is not retired' is around, there is instant stick on hand - still, I wouldn't have it any other way.
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