13th October 2013

While I was off taking Banjo on his usual walk (same route as yesterday, though unfortunately deer-free), David got stuck into cleaning the kitchen. I suspect he knew full well that dinner might not materialise unless there was a surface clear enough to prepare food on, utensils free of yesterday’s crusty evidence, and something vaguely recognisable as crockery to eat off. We’ve struck a deal, you see: I whip it up, and he clears up, pots and all. In previous years, we’ve been forced to ‘dine out’ simply because the house resembled a minor construction site, every flat surface a no-go zone for anything edible. This year, however, all the chaos has remained mercifully outside. David has even kept mostly on top of the cleaning, hoovering up rogue bits of kerlinka along the way.

This newfound domestic hygiene appears to be wreaking havoc on his digestive system, which may have forgotten how to cope with food not liberally seasoned with plaster dust. I suspect his intestines have thrown in the towel, apparently deciding that if a meal doesn’t present a structural challenge, it simply isn’t worth the effort. Following last week’s successful sortie over the Ruhr Valley, I imagine Bomber Command is already planning the next mission.

It was another scorcher, so we turned our attention to a fresh project. Last year, my final act before heading home was to fell one walnut and three plum trees. The walnut has been chopped and stashed in the woodstore, but the plums? Still languishing in the undergrowth. Today’s task: liberate them from their leafy prison, which involved plenty of hacking, pulling, and a generous sprinkling of expressive language. After several life-saving breaks for brown sustenance, we’d managed to drag all three into the yard. Skipping lunch, we set to chopping them for firewood: small branches through the chop saw, chunkier logs handled by the industrial-strength splitter in the barn. By sunset, we stood back, admiring a satisfyingly large pile of wood, ready for winter’s first blaze.

A quick shower later, and we were scrubbed up for tomorrow’s mountain outing, where we’ll be… well, looking at a mountain.

Dinner was a grand pasta affair: smoked sausage, a tomatoey sauce, and two of Bulgaria’s finest cheeses, with a dash of cider on top. Sadly, a fresh garden salad wasn’t on the cards after last week’s frost claimed the greens. Dessert was a no-show, since I’m not really a dessert person, though Banjo kindly took care of any leftovers.

The evening’s film was a long one from the early ‘90s, so it was likely close to midnight by the time I finally hit the pillow.