I was pleased to see it raining this morning, not just because the garden needs it but because it granted me permission to be a slob. The whole world outside seemed redolent with slobbery. Even the rain was lackadaisical, scarcely dropping heavily enough to disturb the surface of the pond. I have been waiting for this day most of my life, a day when it would be perfectly acceptable to be a slob, in fact when there was no option to be anything else. For the first 25 years of my teaching career I never missed a day for illness. (Apart from one day when I thought I'd lost my voice, but then discovered it was my hearing that had gone. My voice was fine, I just couldn't hear it). I was waiting for an illness that would be fairly comfortable and painless but would necessitate lying still. I found it after a hernia operation which I had timed to coincide with the 'A'Level exams so I wouldn't feel I was shirking my responsibilities by being carelessly infirm. Otherwise I've always envied the slob temperament - the sluggardly man (I usually associate it with men) who can lie on the settee all day, with a beer, only shifting his body to retrieve the TV remote or to
complain that his tea is late - and feel perfectly fine about it. I wanted to be like one of the twinkle-eyed old men who sat on the window-sills around the Diamond in Deirdre's home village in Ireland, watching the world and just moving round with the sun. A similar regular fraternity sits outside a particular bar in Gozo, mostly in silence but exchanging the odd observation in Gozitan Maltese. I was once speculating with the family what did these laggards find to talk about all day every day when one leaned across to me and said, "It's very boring!" Nevertheless it would be good to be so easily satisfied. I even bought a special lounging- about outfit from M&S last year, and today, at last, I can wear it. Mind you I would not like to extend this ambition to its limits which might end up as "Wouldn't it be nice to be a log slowly rotting on the forest floor." A friend once gave me a print of the L.S.Lowry painting above, 'Man Lying on a Wall'. It seems to encapsulate a tendency of mine today - to sleep away this anomaly in history, this pointless period in time. The only way in which the picture is wrong is that the factory chimneys are still smoking.
Perhaps it's the cold and drizzle today and the reminder that Spring, having peeped out for a few days, has withdrawn its head like a tortoise. Each year I need to be reminded not to get ahead of myself in the garden, to let the tender plants harden off properly. This is the between-season of dead-heading daffodils and colourless patio pots. This is the season of limbo, of treading water waiting for the year to move on, to sprout and bloom. For those of us of a certain vintage on a dull, damp, chilly day, this feels like a wasted year leaving less time to do those things we intended to do, with not too many spare years tucked in reserve: those travels to places on the bucket list; old friends to visit; those Live and Local shows; those parties and anniversaries that won't occur again. April has become a month of shelving, postponing, cancelling, substituting, compensating. Then the stern rejoinder: how privileged we are to have been able to have these plans; how lucky we are to even have the leisure to contemplate and regret this suspension of time. Others are barely keeping their heads above water, crawling exhausted into their homes wondering what dangers they might be carrying. For them no planning, no prospects of holidays or outings -yet.
One question often asked when assessing if someone has Alzheimers is do they know the day and date. Would any of us have an instant reply at the moment? This is the weekend - so what? We are, however, developing new routines: the regular Zoom spots, Sunday worship, morning Pilates, afternoon exercise. I should adhere to these, albeit reluctantly. A professional career in education has left me with a loathing for 'timetables', reacting instantly to bells that other people ring. It's the same recommendation that says dress your children in school uniform for their home teaching, look smart even though no one is going to see you. All of which brings me back to my day's slobby lounging-around outfit. I've done a lot of reading, a bit of music, dozed and caught up with a couple of friends on the phone. Now I must repeat the mantra, "This has not been a wasted day. This has not been a wasted day." I almost forgot - I wrote this blog too. Anyway, I notice the sky is clearing, the clouds have thinned out and a patch of blue is shyly appearing.