Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

This day someone had turned the technicolour on.  We lift our sunglasses to check, and quickly put them down again. It is hard to tell colour from fire, flower from lava.  Grandchild 2 is home with us, too poorly for school, and I too am feverish, though it is hard to measure when everywhere is hot.  We need a sea breeze. At the beach Grandad has good sandals for walking on low tide rocks; we do not, us Wild Girls, we put bare feet down on every surface, retract some, retry; then know the fullest joy in wet sand, in sea water swirling to our knees, all skirts tucked up.  (Although on the roughest terrain, to get here, Grandad’s was the best hand to hold.) The sea breeze is exactly as we had needed it.  We paddle back, drink droves of fresh water; we drive home, windows downwardly wound, the little one sleeps and sleeps. Later we go to work. The heat has seemed to dissipate. We come home, sit under stars to eat supper.  Mr sa...

First day, last month of Spring:  Even the rain seems pretty, falling to fresh leaves, caught on bright petals; a water veil draping us. Dog has been hose-piped and rain-rinsed and still a trace of spilt wine sits on her shoulders. She cares not.  The house is cold, a little in mourning - our way of life having shifted lately, with the demise of the Rayburn. One morning at 3am the carbon monoxide alarm sent its shrill noise upstairs; at a more civilised hour the chimney man came, and it couldn’t be fixed. I thought Rayburns lived forever. Alas! So now we wait for the landlord to do sums and calculate an acceptable replacement. Most likely a wood burner will arrive, fingers crossed it will have a back boiler and heat our water too. Meanwhile we have pulled the pillow draught-catcher out of the front room flue, lit the tiny open grate each evening. Meanwhile we are using an electric oven, which ought to seem more convenient - but the Rayburn was al...