I wake gently in the arms of the man I love. We drink strong coffee silently in the sunshine, on a verandah overlooking the sea, in the middle of a Cornish summer. The only sounds are the waves breaking on the beach, the gulls overhead... perhaps Byrd's Vigilate playing softly in the background.* There is a basket of warm croissants on the table, an ice-cold bottle of fizz, some rolling tobacco, the newspapers. I am tanned and lean, with brine in my hair and no bunions, wearing a very fetching vintage 1930's kimono. He looks at me with his heart in his eyes... and (this is critical) doesn't need to speak.
Today, I woke when Madam clonked me in the eye with her elbow when she rolled over in the single bed we share. Wearing a black shapeless t-shirt dress with my daughter's dribble in my hair, I made a banana sandwich for Number Four and fished odd socks from the dirty laundry basket for Number Two. The Teenager proceeded to run me through the flaws relating to time and logic and other plot anachronisms in the Terminator trilogy, movie by movie, while I fashioned packed lunches from bare cupboards. The Husband said he'd make me coffee and promptly forgot, and then cooked the sausages for tonight's supper for his breakfast, while whistling "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" and promptly set the fire alarm off.
Spot the difference...
*(it would have been Tallis' Spem in alium, but I have just been told it appears in the tale of Mr Grey and that's quite a different dream altogether.)
LOL. You had me at the warm croissants. I feel your pain.
ReplyDeleteNo need to speak.Quelle bliss.
ReplyDeleteWith the summer holidays looming I have made it a rule that nobody - and I mean nobody - is to ask me questions while I am lying down - and trappist silence will be maintained between 7.30 and 8.00pm. If it works I may patent it!