days

I am fascinated by how different one day is from another. This sense of difference is taken from you if you are imprisoned. It is reduced if you suffer chronic illness: you don’t have a better day, you just have a day.   But my days are one offs and I try to live them one at a time. I only do Monday on Monday: Sunday is over and Tuesday isn’t here yet. Yesterday was a pain in the (you choose).

My close work glasses fell off my nose (any cracks about suddenly developed antipathy will be ignored.) And of course (fool) I don’t have a backup pair. So I am limited in what I can do until the repair comes back and the stand by pair will take even longer to make.

Having cancelled Duchy yogurt production and bumped up that labelling on bunches of tropical fruit, (any back reference to dear old Albion being now redundant) Waitrose has now ceased to trade my favourite coffee. Today I bought two more canisters of the only polish that has ever worked on the wooden work surfaces (Wood Silk – cheapest, British, best).   I never thought the day would come when I would hoard polish.

Yesterday I tried to buy boots in Boden where they lost the right one and as I waited, torn between wanting to scream and holding on to my ratty temper (in the shop within 15 minutes of opening, only two other customers, the efforts of all concerned seriously skewed by some moody device where there is a small display and everything else has to be located by remote control out of stock) – my jaundiced eye fell on a sign which read “Johnny – welcome to my home ! – Boden”.   If it were my home, Mr.Boden, I’d leave. A serious confusion between retail, lifestyle, service and schmaltz. Staff offered to get a pair of my chosen colour in, if I would prepay them. I declined, I want to try them on. This is footwear, feet vary.   So it was agreed they’d see if they could find the right boot and I would call in the following morning. And retail wonders why it isn’t working.

Last night a wonderful friend took me to an address by the director on the future of the Victoria and Albert Museum. He got better and better as he went on speaking, and some of the projects he outlined sound fascinating. As were insights into the correlation between on line and in the door: the more on line, the more in the door. And the success of their most expensively ticketed show on Pink Floyd which brought in people who had never come to the V&A before. We then went off and ate (we were late and they were slow) and came home (oh joyous luxury, luxurious joy) in a black taxi , deep blissful sigh.

This morning I bought the most scrumptious tomatoes in the market, saw one of my favourite tellers in Waitrose and then my eye fell on an umbrella covered with leopard heads, not leopard print, the animal – so I sprang into the shop to ask if it was for sale.   “Of course” they said. I priced it and fished for the money (it will fit in the bottom of my bag). “One of my favourite animals” I remarked. The young man looked slightly shocked. ”Leopards ?” he said.   “Very good mothers” I said |- I thought talking about their hunting prowess would probably upset him. “What other animals do you like ?” he asked warily. “Rhino” I said.

I collected the boots from Boden though you’d have thought they were checking clearance through MI5 and I am happy to tell you there was a 20 percent reduction throughout the store which made them a better price: I wouldn’t have gone through this if they weren’t leather and if my trainers and my other walking shoes hadn’t decided to wear out in unison. I mean, look, it’s hardly glamorous shopping – boots, brolly, furniture polish … and then I saw my once an autumn luxury – a bunch of great gold and rust chrysanthemums.    No I didn’t need them. I wanted them. And I carried them home in triumph. Today is a good day.

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