Long blog today because it’s been such a busy and eventful week and I have plenty to tell you! Last Sunday was my one day off in a run of five days and it was spent doing housework, shopping, laundry and catching up on social media. Monday and Tuesday were dead days at work, where I sat twiddling my thumbs, thinking of all the stuff I could be doing at home, and panicking about the ridiculously high target I’d been given for the week.

Driving home at six on Tuesday, my mind was running over all the things I had planned for my days off and as I turned off the roundabout onto the main road running past my street, I was surprised to find people standing on the pavement waving me down and indicating that I shouldn’t turn. Slowing down, I looked and saw stuff scattered across the entrance to my road. A complete speaker system in pieces, lamps, broken glass everywhere, a gaming chair lying upside down, and to my utter astonishment, a washing machine upside down in the middle of the road.

Shocked, I pulled over to the side of the road and wound down my window – what’s going on? – I asked a woman standing there.

Some idiot is throwing things out of a window in the block of flats, she replied. My husband is on the phone with the police.

Instantly, I knew which idiot she was talking about. The same idiot who causes all the noise and disturbance. The same idiot who threw pots of paint out of the window last year all over the street and the house opposite. And the same idiot who was roaming up and down the street in the middle of the night with a knife and inviting us to – come out and play…

I surveyed the mess. No way was I driving my car over that lot, it would rip my tyres to shreds. But there was nowhere else to park. The council, in their infinite wisdom, took away all the parking spaces on the main road and installed a cordoned-off cycle lane that no cyclist ever uses, so I couldn’t even park there for a while. There was nothing for it, I was going to have to pay to park in the car park at the top of my road.

Seriously annoyed now, I mean how many times must this selfish and dangerous individual pull stunts like this before something is done about him, I drove a little further and turned around, then headed back the way I had come and went into the car park.

I parked at the barricade which divides the car park from my street and got out of my car, wondering how much the charges were and if I even had any change in my purse. As I was standing there watching, a large corner sofa unit appeared on the balcony of the flat where the idiot lived and I watched in complete disbelief as he struggled to force it through the window, clearly intending to send that down to join all the rest of the detritus already lying in the road.

Bloody hell! I said out loud and a couple walking up the road looked at me.

Crazy, isn’t it, they said. We were walking past and felt the wind from the washing machine as it flew past us!

I live on this road, I said. He’s done stuff like this before. Once he was out with a knife in the middle of the night threatening to play with us.

Why on earth is he still living there? They exclaimed in horror.

Apparently, he must kill someone before the council and the police will do anything about it.

Crazy! They said again, shaking their heads in disbelief.

So, because of him I can’t even park outside my home but must pay to park in the car park.

No, you don’t, they told me. It’s free after three on a Tuesday.

Oh, brilliant, at least that’s something.

I walked into my road and joined many of my neighbours who were huddled together, watching the drama unfold and talking about this latest episode of the bloody soap opera that life on my previously peaceful road has become.

The police arrived, went to turn into the road, saw the debris and thought better of it so hitched up onto the pavement. They piled into the flats and even though we watched for ages we saw no sign of them coming out.

A couple of men whom I was told were friends of the idiot came out of the flats and started piling all the detritus onto the pavement. I hoped they would sweep up all the broken glass and twisted metal fragments as well. I didn’t want to leave my car in the car park for too long. At night, boy racers roar around it pretending to be real men and cars left there have been damaged.

Eventually, I went inside and told Miss F what had happened, she immediately went to look out of the window, wondering how on earth anyone could lift a washing machine, let alone get it through a window and over a high balcony railing.

What about if it had landed on someone, she asked. Or landed on someone’s car. What about if it had landed on ours? Well, that would have been a serious financial hardship for us. I presume a full-size washing machine landing on top of a tiny Nissan Micra would have destroyed it beyond all hope of repair. I am also assuming the idiot doesn’t have insurance. I know my insurance company would only offer me scrap metal value for the car which I’ve been told would be less than £100. On top of that, I would have to pay the policy excess of £100, my premiums would increase, and I would be without a car with no money to buy another one.

All because some braindead inconsiderate idiot likes to get off his face on drink and drugs and throw things out of a second-floor window.

Surely, they must do something about him now. Enough is enough, he is too dangerous to allow him to remain in that flat. At the very least relocate him to a ground floor one so if the urge to throw all his possessions out of the window strikes him again at least he’s not going to flatten someone with a washing machine!

Wednesday, my first day off in a run of four, and I had phone calls to make. The first was to the doctor’s surgery. Miss F had been told she needed an up-to-date tetanus jab as she would be working with wild animals that bite, claw, and scratch. I got through all the various corona related messages and was told to hang on and my call would be answered soon. I hung on. And hung on… And hung on… and hung on… For the first ten minutes they kept telling me how important my call was to them but how very, very busy they were. Then the phone started ringing. It rang and rang and rang. I sat there for thirty-three more minutes listening to it ring, drinking the coffee I had thankfully thought to make, catching up on social media, making a post, then reading a book on my kindle.

Eventually, the phone was answered. I explained what I needed to know. It was fairly simple. Did Miss F have a valid tetanus jab? Yes or no. The receptionist didn’t know. She would have to check with the doctor. She would call me back.

The opticians were next. Miss F was wondering if she could fit in an appointment before she went. She couldn’t, so I booked her in for the October half-term holiday. That only took five minutes. Then I had to phone the Child Maintenance Agency. They had sent me a letter that was so elegantly subtle I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. This time, I hung on for forty minutes before my call was answered.

I needed to phone a building society that I have a small savings account for Miss F with. I wanted to close the account and have a cheque sent to me in her name for all that it contained so it could be paid into her account. This call made all the others pale into insignificance as they made me wait a whopping sixty-two minutes before they answered!

And that was the whole morning gone. I was fed up, hungry, thirsty, and needed to pee. I had two more calls to make but lacked the emotional and mental strength to make them. My phone was almost completely out of charge as well. I gave up for the day and had some lunch.

In the afternoon, I went uptown with Miss F. She had some money to pay into her bank and I needed to find something to wear to a party I am going to Saturday evening. It’s a friend’s birthday party and has a theme of the 1970s with an emphasis on happy and relaxed.

A new retro shop had opened in town so I wanted to forage in there to see if I could find anything suitable. It spanned three floors and was packed with vintage clothing and bric-a-brac. Surely, I thought, I must find something here. It was an odd and eclectic mixture but as Miss F and I sorted through the racks and racks of clothing I noticed an alarming trend. Everything was in size stupidly tiny.

Now, I’m far from obese but neither am I stupidly tiny, so I was beginning to despair as anything suitable we saw and pulled off the rack to look at turned out to be a size 8 or even a 6 – mate, I wasn’t a size 6 even when I was six! Whilst rummaging through, I saw an interesting flash of black lace and pulled out a simply gorgeous classic black lace dress. Cut in a 1950s style, it had capped sleeves, a plunging neckline, a tiny, fitted bodice, and a swishy swirly skirt in layers of black lace and silk petticoat.

Look at this, I said to Miss F and pulled it off the rack. She looked and her eyes lit up.

It’s lovely, she agreed.

Try it on, I urged, passing it to her. It will fit you perfectly, and you’re going to need some pretty clothes for all the balls, proms, and formal events there’ll be at university.

Very reluctantly, she took the dress and vanished into a changing room, and I waited long minutes until she emerged, clutching the dress possessively over her arm.

Well? Does it fit you?

Like a glove, she muttered.

Do you love it?

Yes.

I’ll buy it for you.

You don’t have to.

I want to, I declared, and that was that.

Holding onto the dress we wandered down into the basement where I at last found a chiffon overblouse cut in a 1970s style and so psychedelically patterned it made my eyes water just looking at it. Trailing back up to the changing room, I tried it on. To my relief, it fitted and looked okay. The remit had been relaxed and comfortable. Well, I figured team this blouse with my black, slightly flared jeans, my bright green Rocket Dog sneakers, a red vest top underneath, wooden beads, and a headscarf, I’d be suitably relaxed, and I’d certainly be comfortable.

We went to pay, and I was surprised to find that Miss F’s beautiful black dress was only £20, whereas my blouse which, to be honest, I could probably have found in a charity shop for £2.50 if I’d had the time to go and look, was a whopping £22.

The rest of Wednesday afternoon was spent stocking Miss F up with new underwear and a few other things she needed for university, then home, and dinner.

Thursday – the day of the big dress rehearsal of packing the car. Over the past two years, we have been gradually buying things that Miss F will need for university. These items were stowed away under beds, in cupboards, in wardrobes, and on shelves and to be honest, I think we’d forgotten what half the stuff was. The plan was to locate everything and bring it all down to the dining room. There was a lot. An awful lot. My heart sank as I surveyed it all piled up.

As you can see from the pictures below, it’s an impressive amount and this didn’t include any of Miss F’s clothes, her PS4, or my overnight bag. (Sorry about the blurriness of these pictures. It was a video and I tried to screenshot stills from it which is never a good idea).

Was it possible to fit all of this into the back of my Nissan Micra? Looking at it, the immediate answer was not a cat’s chance in hell, but it needed to be sorted and packed smaller wherever possible. We began to filter it through into the lounge. If anything was in an unnecessarily bulky package it was opened and made smaller. Anything that had space to put things inside was utilised, any duplications or things deemed not needed were found and put to one side. It took a long time, but eventually, everything was packed as efficiently as possible.

The pile was a lot smaller but still considerable. Would it fit in the car though? There was only one way to find out. We started packing the car as tightly as possible. We hadn’t even got half of the stuff in before we realised the impossibility of the task. It wasn’t going to fit. It was time to consider plan B because there was a plan B – in life, you should always have a plan B.

Miss F went online to find the website of a local vehicle hire company only five minutes away from us. Did they have any small vans available for the 8^th and 9^th of September? Yes, they did. We booked one. We can collect it at 8am and must return it by 6pm the next day.

The good thing is, we know we’ll be able to get everything in the van, but I will admit right here and now that the prospect of driving it is scaring me witless. I’ve never driven a van before, so there’s that, and, more to the point, it’s a manual and for the last twenty years I’ve driven nothing but automatics! It’s worrying me to the point that I keep waking in the night trying to remember the order of the pedals and how to change gear! It wouldn’t be so bad if I had time and somewhere quiet to practice, but we’ll have to leave straight away so I’ll be on some of the fastest and most congested motorways in the country.

I mean, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Driving a manual is like riding a bike, right? Surely, it’ll all come flooding back as soon as I get in the van. Won’t it? I hope it does. It must because it’s not like I have a lot of choice.

And that was Thursday. By the time we’d got everything out of the car and back upstairs into the office it was almost dinner time, and we were both on the verge of collapse with aching, shaking legs and sore backs.

Friday, and I had to drive Miss F out to her former place of employment to pick up her last tips at midday. I’d arranged to swing by Tesco on the way back to pick up our weekly shop and then I had two of my local author friends coming for coffee and cake at 1pm. No problem, I thought, plenty of time. What I hadn’t allowed for was how much traffic would be on the road at midday on a Friday and how many vehicles would be trying to get in and out of Tesco.

One of my friends can only drink peppermint tea, so I’d put it on the list as it’s not something I drink very often. As we pulled up to the collection spot, I saw which assistant was on that day and let out a groan of disbelief.

Oh no, not him. He talks too much.

Mum! Miss F was shocked. Don’t say things like that, it’s rude.

But you don’t know what he’s like, I whined.

It doesn’t matter, don’t be so horrible.

Suitably chastised, I fell into a sullen silence as we pulled up and I got out of the car.

Hello, he began, his eyes lighting up when he saw me, then told his little minion my name because obviously he’s memorised it, and he began talking.

What he was talking about, I couldn’t tell you, because I’m afraid I tuned out. It’s all such utter small talk, you see, and none of it sticks. The little minion handed me my printed-out list.

There are three substitutions, he said.

Oh, please don’t let it be the peppermint tea, I prayed.

They’ve swapped your apple juice for exotic juice – that was for Miss F, so I handed her the juice through the open window, she examined it, pulled a face, and handed it back. The little minion looked devastated and took back the box.

The second substitution – please don’t let it be the peppermint tea – is that they’ve swapped your cucumber for a cucumber.

Umm, okay, that’s fine I suppose. The little minion looked relieved.

And the last one – please, please don’t be the peppermint tea – is they’ve swapped your peppermint tea for lemon and ginger tea – I bloody well knew it – Is that okay?

Was it okay? I had no idea. I only knew my friend had requested peppermint tea. I knew she had various intolerances and allergies and for all I knew, peppermint tea might be the only hot beverage she could drink.

No, it’s not okay, I said. I have a friend round this afternoon, and she has intolerances, peppermint tea is all she can drink.

Would you like me to go to the store and see if I can get some for you?

Would you? That would be amazing, thank you.

The little minion nodded eagerly and bounced off towards the store delighted to be doing something to help and muttering that he’d look for apple juice whilst he was there, and I continued throwing our shopping into the boot very aware of time ticking by.

Meanwhile, the talking boy had been rumbling away non-stop in the background to Miss F through the open window and I tuned back in to hear him exclaim – it wasn’t marbled, so what could I do?

Huh? What wasn’t marbled? His patio. His hall floor. His latest sculpture masterpiece. What? Perhaps some medieval cathedral he’d recently visited had disappointed with its lack of a suitably impressive floor.

He turned his attention to me and desperately I looked over to where another car had pulled up to the collection point and was patiently waiting.

Oh look, I said. Someone needs your attention, so I won’t keep you, we’ll wait in the car for your colleague to get back with the rest of our shopping. Lovely chatting, bye. And I jumped in the car and slammed the door on his disappointed face.

Miss F was busy rolling her window up as I got in.

Never, she snarled through gritted teeth, ever leave me alone with that man again! He wouldn’t stop talking at me! I was seriously tempted to off myself, or him. He wouldn’t shut up!

Now you know what I meant, I told her. He drones on and on and it’s all about nothing.

The tone of his voice never varies, she said. Even though I didn’t respond to him or even look at him, he just kept on talking and talking.

What wasn’t marbled? I had to know.

His steak the last time he went out to eat, so he sent it back.

Ah, I see.

To our vast relief, we then saw the little minion jogging back with a bottle of apple juice and, joy of joys, a box of peppermint teabags! Yay. We roared home, it was almost twenty to one by now and, as usual, I was fighting a losing battle with time.

Reaching home, we hauled in the shopping, and I left Miss F putting it away as I dashed outside and wiped down the table, put cushions on the seats, and switched on the water feature. Coming back in, I ripped a comb through my hair, slapped on eyeliner and lipstick, and set out tea, coffee, and cake, as the doorbell went and the first of my friends arrived.

It was a lovely afternoon. We sat in the garden even though the weather was a little overcast, but it was dry, and frankly, this summer, it’s the best you can hope for. After they left at about five-ish, Miss F emerged to see what was happening about dinner and we decided we fancied pizza, so I slipped my shoes on and walked to Waitrose to grab our favourite from there – caramelized onion, feta, and goat’s cheese.

Walking back the sun finally broke through the cloud cover and turning into my street I found many of my neighbours gathered in the road, drinks in hand, chatting. The Friday happy hour is a weekly thing, but I don’t usually attend because I’m either at work, just getting home from work and in no mood to be sociable, cooking dinner, or trying to write my blog, and I’m never able to drink because I’m always having to collect Miss F from work later that evening.

I was greeted with cheers as I appeared clutching a big pizza.

Go and get a drink and join us, I was ordered, and I realised that this week I could. I dumped the pizza in the fridge, poured a glass of wine, sent Miss F a message where I was going and why (she had disappeared into her room for a nap before dinner), then went out for a drink and a chat. Five minutes later, Miss F came out, clutching a tin of cider. Everyone was pleased to see her and interested to hear all about her university and her plans.

We were out there for about forty minutes or so, before coming in to cook pizza and drink wine and watch TV. Friday evening as it should be.

And now it’s Saturday and the week has gone full circle. Today has been taken up so far with laundry and writing my blog and getting ready for the party tonight. I offered to make cheese and pineapple hedgehogs – an absolute must for any self-respecting 1970s party – and I think they turned out pretty good even though I made a mistake and used a grapefruit instead of a melon, so they are more like baby hedgehogs.

I must work tomorrow which is a big shame. I would usually drive my car there loaded down with food, drink, presents, a coat, and sensible shoes, leave my car there and either walk or get a taxi home, then wander back the next day to collect it. But of course, with needing to leave for work early the next morning that’s not possible. I had resigned myself to walking and hoped the hedgehogs would survive the trip, but luckily, I’ve been offered a lift so that’s all right.

So, I’d better go and get ready because I don’t want to make my lift wait. Have a wonderful week wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. It’s Miss F’s last full week at home which I still can’t wrap my head around, so no doubt it will be a busy one and I will tell you all about it in the next blog.

Julia Blake

Good morning! What a week it’s been, busy but fun and for once I don’t have anything to rant about. As you know, it was my birthday on the 17^th, so I booked the week off work and my lovely boss arranged my working days at either end of my holiday, so I ended up with eleven days off in total. It was so wonderful going home on Saturday evening knowing that my holiday had started.

On Sunday, you may think I’m daft, but I spent the whole day cleaning the house, tidying the garden, stripping beds, and catching up on laundry. I wanted to catch up on everything so I could relax and enjoy my days off and not be fretting about how untidy my house was. Also, I was having some company over the week, so I needed the house to be presentable – well, the public areas anyway.

Monday was a dull and rainy day, but I didn’t care. I was going out with my old friend Becky Wright whom I hadn’t seen for real in over eighteen months. So, I climbed out of the shower early that morning and wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The cat was fussing about my legs waiting for her breakfast when we both heard a rustling and scratching coming from the tall cupboard next to my fridge/freezer.

We looked at each other, then the cat ran to the cupboard and started sniffing at the door. Hello, I thought, I think I know what that is, I bet I’ve got another bloody mouse in there! Quietly, I opened the door and started taking things out. Sure enough, at the back on the floor, I saw little black blobs and knew they were mouse droppings. Bugger it. We’ve had the odd mouse in there before. I don’t know where they come from, but there’s a space to get behind the freezer at the back of the cupboard. Now, I’m not scared of mice. Pet mice are sweet, and little mice out in the fields and hedgerows are fine and obviously where they are meant to be. But in my house? Running around my kitchen? Potentially scurrying around areas where I stored and prepare food? Nope. Sorry, little mouse, but your days are numbered.

I still had some old-fashioned mouse traps left from the previous mouse, so cut a piece of cheese as bait and set it at the back of the cupboard. Humane traps are no good because the mouse would just come straight back in, and poison is the worst thing because the mouse might not get enough to kill it quickly and could take ages to die in pain. Plus, there is always the danger it could crawl off under the freezer to die where it would decompose, and stink and I’d be unable to get it out. No, the traditional method was the only way to deal with it in this case.

Of course, the only cheese we have now is the lactose-free stuff and I wasn’t sure the mouse would fancy it, but it was all I had so I set the trap and left to spend the day with Becky. It was strange though; even though the last time we met was December 2019, it was like we’d seen each other only the week before – but that’s how it is with close friends. We drove to a nearby town and had lunch, which was lovely, and swapped birthday presents because her birthday is the day after mine – how strange is that. It was so nice to see her again though, and even though we’ve messaged and even video chatted it’s not the same as sitting opposite someone, coffee in hand, catching up on all their news. She gave me a beautiful hardback edition of Pride and Prejudice as a gift. It’s gorgeous and matches the copy of Persuasion she gave me last year.

When I got home later that day and let myself in the front door, I had the added surprise of finding a certificate of merit lying on the mat. The judges for Bury in Bloom had been around during the day and even though I didn’t think the pots and hanging basket I’d made were a patch on last year’s display, they must have thought them worthy of a certificate.

I also wondered if I’d caught the mouse and went to have a look. The cheese was gone, but the trap hadn’t been sprung. So, Mr Mouse, you want to play hardball, do you? I cut another piece of cheese and this time made sure it was jammed securely onto the trap.

Tuesday I was out to lunch again, this time with another old friend who is absolutely nothing to do with the author world, so our conversation only very briefly touched on books and what was happening in my writing life. We went to a local restaurant, so we could share a bottle of wine with lunch. The weather had improved from the previous day, so after lunch, we were able to sit in my garden and share a glass, or two, of prosecco and chat about everything. This summer has been a bit of a nonstarter and days warm enough to sit outside have been far and few between. She bought me a lovely scarf in a beautiful shade of teal, and a fun pair of cat socks. Socks are always a good gift for me.

After she left, I suddenly remembered the mousetrap and went to check it. In the gloom at the back of the cupboard, I could see that the trap was now upside down. Had I been victorious or had Mr Mouse defeated me again? Carefully I picked the trap up and there he was. A tiny brown mouse with a creamy tummy and two bead black eyes, quite quite dead in the trap. I didn’t feel guilty, well, not much. There are a lot of mice in the world, it’s not like I’d killed a white rhino or anything, and I couldn’t leave a mouse running about pooping and weeing everywhere.

Wednesday my parents came over with my presents and I was very relieved that they’d bought me a bottle of my favourite perfume – Burberry Classic. It’s not available to buy in shops anymore and can only be bought online, so I’m constantly afraid it’s going to be discontinued. Once upon a time, there were several perfumes I could wear including CK1 and Happy, but then I got pregnant and suddenly much-loved scents smelled horrible on me or didn’t smell at all. It was so weird, maybe it was the hormones that changed the way my skin reacts to perfume, and it took me a long time to discover that Burberry perfume smells wonderful on me and lasts! A day later I can still smell lingering undertones on my skin. But it must be the classic perfume in the squat bottle with the gold lid in the plain box with the Burberry stripe along the bottom. Over the years, I have been bought variations of the Burberry perfume – Burberry Weekend, Burberry Touch – but they don’t smell of anything on me. It must be Burberry Classic, nothing else will do.

We went out for lunch, and I was surprised by how busy the restaurant was for a Wednesday. We had to queue to get into the restaurant and service was very slow, but then I suppose they are having to clean each table extra thoroughly so it takes just that bit longer.

Thursday, and I was thankful it was a day without any birthday shenanigans. No, the whole day was earmarked for attempting to work on my latest book. I had made a start the week before, but I’ll be honest, I had found it sticky going. The story started well enough, but then I’d floundered a little, so I sat down Thursday morning a bit apprehensive as to how it was going to go. Would the old magic work? Or was I experiencing writer’s block for the first time?

No, it was fine. The magic didn’t let me down and by the time I stopped to make dinner that evening, I’d pounded out over 4500 words and had a clearer idea of where the plot was going, which was a huge relief. Time is ticking on and if I want to make my publishing deadline of the end of November, I need to get this book written.

Friday, I’d arranged to go for coffee and cake with my favourite cousin. She was a bit nervous about going into a crowded coffee shop and asked if we could go somewhere with a garden, but in the centre of town, there aren’t any cafes that have nice gardens. Luckily, the weather was gorgeous – a beautiful sunny morning – so we wandered down to the Abbey Gardens and called into a pretty takeaway cafe to pick up coffee and waffles to take into the gardens to eat.

Our coffees were ready instantly, but they said as it was still so early our waffles wouldn’t be ready for about fifteen minutes if we wouldn’t mind calling back for them – the waffle machine needed to warm up, or something. So, we wandered into the Abbey Gardens and found a table under a big shady tree and sat and drank our coffees and chatted. When it was time to collect the waffles, I offered to go so we wouldn’t lose our table – the gardens were crowded, and I thought the moment we moved we’d probably lose it – and asked if she would like another coffee.

Yeah, I didn’t think that plan through, did I, because the waffles were HOOGE! Seriously massive, in flat cardboard cartons with no lids. I eyed these great mounds of syrup-drenched Belgian waffles with blueberries and cream, each topped with a pretty purple flower, that I was supposed to carry, plus two large cups of coffee. The assistant helpfully gave me an empty carton to put over one waffle so I could balance the other on top, put the coffees into a cardboard cup holder, and gamely I set off back to the gardens.

About halfway there, I realised people were looking at me with amusement and when I looked down at myself, yep, you’ve guessed it, I was wearing half the top waffle. A great dollop of cream had transferred itself to my left boob and the flower was stuck on top! Great. Just great. I had a creamy tit. When I got back to my cousin, she looked me up and down, started to laugh, and claimed the unsullied waffle in the bottom carton for herself. I wiped the cream off – luckily, I was wearing a white top, so it didn’t show much – and ate the rest of the waffle. It was so good. Two thick waffles with syrup and cream and blueberries, and the coffee was excellent. Going to do that again, but this time I’ll make sure I’m not trying to carry everything by myself.

In the afternoon, I had the usual zoom meeting with my local author group and about ten minutes before it was due to start, my mobile rang. It was Rory from my car insurance company. Funnily enough, I had been thinking about this and wondering what the situation was. I’d heard nothing since I’d sent them my four-page witness statement plus all the photographs I had taken of the road to prove that if the Yodel delivery driver had been making a delivery at the time of the accident, then it would have been physically impossible for any other vehicle to get by him to drive into the side of my car. Seriously, my road is narrow anyway, add residents’ cars parked up on both sides, and there was barely room for his van to get through – let alone anything else.

I’d sent all this information to them six weeks previously, but had no response, nor had I received my policy excess of £100 back so I assumed it was still unsettled. Anyway, the lovely Rory was phoning to let me know that at long last the other insurance company had admitted liability! The accident has gone down as not being my fault, and my £100 will be repaid into my account within the next three to four working days. This is such good news! Not just about the money – although it will be greatly appreciated – but that it’s not going down on my record as being my fault. It still seems deeply unfair that an accident can be considered your fault when someone else drives into your car whilst you are in your house!

Driving to pick up Miss F from work I thought about the plans for the next day. My favourite niece and her husband were coming over lunchtime and we had arranged to go uptown and eat in Edmundos. But, due to corona, they weren’t taking bookings. It was a case of turn up and hope they can fit you in. I’d had lunch there Tuesday and again on Wednesday. Tuesday hadn’t been too bad, but Wednesday we only just managed to get in and I knew lunchtime on a Saturday was going to be even worse.

Also, it had been a really hot day and the forecast for Saturday was even hotter. Did we want to be going into a busy, crowded town and squeezing into a jam-packed restaurant? I wasn’t sure I wanted to. No, I’d much rather lay up the table in my cool, shady, and peaceful garden and maybe order a Chinese takeaway? It would certainly be cheaper and, I felt, a lot nicer.

I reached the restaurant, collected Miss F, and as we drove home, she said – I’ve been thinking about tomorrow, do you think it would be nicer to stay home and order a takeaway?

Case of great minds think alike.

Saturday dawned – blazing hot as forecast. Even at 8am as I drank my tea, the temperature was already in the mid-twenties. I was sure my niece and her hubby would be fine with the new plan, so I swept up the garden, cleaned the table, and we put cushions on the chairs and laid the table nicely ready for lunch.

An interesting pile of presents was lying on the floor from Miss F, so I sat and opened them, and the little love had managed to track down an obscure book I wanted. I have recently discovered that my favourite author, Robin Hobb, also writes under the pen name Megan Lindholm, so I wanted to collect her books as well. Some of them are out of print but Miss F had found a second-hand copy of one on eBay. I don’t mind pre-loved books at all, especially if it’s the only way I’m going to get the book. She’d also bought me a tiny radio for the kitchen. I like listening to Radio 2 when I’m cooking dinner and up until now the only way I could was to have the stereo on full blast in the dining room – which is no fun for anyone else in the house.

She also bought me an ergonomic mouse which is the oddest thing ever – more like a joystick than a mouse – and will take some getting used to but apparently will help stop my hand cramping. Finally, there was a wireless, ergonomic keyboard which really will take me a long time to adjust to. It’s one of the reasons that my blog is a little late this morning because I’m finding it hard to type on and keep making mistakes.

Our company arrived at 12:30 and were more than happy to have a takeaway in the garden – especially as it was now unbelievably hot and muggy. We knew the town would be heaving with little social distancing and no one wearing masks outside and none of us fancied that. Chinese was agreed upon and we ordered from a restaurant that’s only a couple of minutes away.

They gave me my presents – more books, yay!

The rest of the day was great. The meal was delicious. Miss F and I sometimes have a Chinese takeaway, but she is not very adventurous and always has the same thing, so it was great to have more variety to choose from. Also, if you’re the only person eating Chinese then you can only have one meal because it’s too expensive and wasteful to have any more than that.

We played games most of the afternoon, which was fun. This is when my garden comes into its own. It’s quiet and shady and my round table can seat up to ten if necessary. The silver birch and the cherry tree provide shade from the fierce sun so it’s cooler. The weather was glorious though, truly Mr Blue Sky was on his best behaviour for my birthday, and it was warm enough to sit outside until almost midnight.

And now it’s Sunday morning and my laptop is telling me it’s already 22 degrees centigrade and it’s set to be a scorching day. Other than tidying up after yesterday today is earmarked for writing – if I manage to get the hang of my new keyboard! I do need to get some milk from somewhere though, I made my tea this morning and the milk curdled into lumps. Yuck.

It’s been a fabulous week of friends, family, and fun, and I have been blown away by the outpouring of love, best wishes, and birthday messages that I received on Instagram and even on Facebook. I have tried to respond to them all, but there are so many I know I can’t get to everyone so would like to say a big thank you.

The next three days will be quiet ones of reading and writing, then on Wednesday Miss F is taking me out for lunch to a local pub that has allowed us to book so we know we’ll be able to get in, and then Thursday I’ll be back to work, and it will all be over for another year.

I hope wherever you are you have had a great week, and I look forward to chatting again next Sunday.

Julia Blake

I’m writing this on Friday instead of Saturday because unusually I’m working tomorrow. I have a week’s holiday booked from next Monday, so my kind boss swapped my days around at the weekend so I could start my holiday a day earlier. He also set my working days as Thursday, Friday, Saturday the following week so I get a total of eleven days off in all – which is lovely.

It’s sure been a hectic week! I worked Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Smashed my week’s target out of the park on Sunday, which was great. It’s always nice to finish the first week of a new month ahead of target – it gives me some breathing space. Anyway, Monday and Tuesday were also good sales days, and I am already through my target for the week so anything I sell tomorrow will be a big, fat cherry on top.

A weird thing happened on Monday though. My boss had gone for his lunch hour and had left the premises. Lone working happens quite a lot, especially when a staff member is on holiday, but usually, it’s fine and I can cope. However, I was dealing with a lovely customer when a pair of young girls came into the shop and asked if I were alone. I didn’t think anything of it and replied that my colleague was on lunch break. They said, no problem, they’d go and look upstairs and call me if they needed help and I continued helping my customer.

Ten minutes later, one of them called down asking for assistance and my customer told me to go and see to them – she wanted to lie for a bit longer on the mattress she had potentially chosen – so I went upstairs. One of the girls exclaimed how hot she was and that she needed to get out of the shop for some air and that she’d meet her friend outside when she was finished. She stomped off downstairs and I didn’t think anything of it. I talked to the other young girl about mattresses, and she laid on a few. I didn’t think she was serious about buying even though she seemed interested in one.

As she was laying on one of the mattresses, I moved to the balcony to check my lady downstairs was still there and still happy and saw the other young girl about to leave the shop with armfuls of pillows!

Shocked, I shouted out – “Excuse me! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t take things out of the shop without paying for them!”

She jumped about a foot in the air and looked up at me. Her friend leapt off the mattress and rushed to the balcony beside me, crying out – “Oh, have you picked those out for me to look at?”

“Yes,” replied her friend. “I thought you might be interested in them, so I picked them up for you to take a look at.”

“Well, she can’t look at them in the car park, can she?” I replied and hurried downstairs. “Take them to the till,” I ordered. Flustered, the young girl staggered back to the till with them and dropped them down. I glanced over them – there was about £300 worth of product there.

“You made me jump!” the girl said. “Shouting at me like that. I was only bringing them upstairs for my friend to look at.”

“You were heading out the door with them,” I snapped.

“No, no, I wasn’t,” she tried to convince me.

“You were nowhere near the stairs; you were at the door!” I wasn’t having any of it.

“I’m sorry,” the other girl said. “She’s a bit, a bit…” she never finished the sentence and shrugged sheepishly, so I’m not sure what she thought her friend was a bit of. A bit of a thief?

Now, wouldn’t you think because their distract and steal plan hadn’t worked that they would have got out of the shop as quickly as possible before I changed my mind and called the police? They didn’t and this is where it gets weird. The second girl bought the mattress she’d lain on, so gave me her name, address, and mobile phone number!

Then they left.

Remember my original customer? Well, once the girls left, she sat up on the bed and told me that she thought my instincts had been spot on. She had watched the young girl look at the pillows, then pick up four and go around the back wall to get to the door – not going anywhere near the stairs – and that if I hadn’t seen her and shouted out, she would have been out into the car park leaving her friend to take the rap if I noticed the pillows were gone – which, to be honest, I probably wouldn’t have done until later.

The lady then purchased her mattress and said if I needed a witness statement, she would be quite happy to supply me with one.

When my boss came back, I told him what had happened, and we talked about it. We were both stunned that the girl had bought the mattress. Surely, if it had been a simple distraction robbery then why didn’t they both leave as quickly as possible when I caught them? It makes no sense to go through with buying it and leave full contact details.

My thoughts were that they hadn’t come into the shop planning on stealing anything – after all, a bed shop is not your first thought of somewhere that has small, easily shoplifted items – that they came in because one of them genuinely wanted a mattress. Then her friend came downstairs, spotted the pillows, and didn’t see my customer lying on the bed – or forgot she was there – and snatched them up on the spur of the moment.

It shook me up a little – it could have turned nasty, after all – but I’ve been working there four years and this is the first time anything like this has happened and when it was happening, I didn’t feel threatened by these girls in any way. In fact, I think there were a little bit scared of me.

Wednesday I was up bright and early packing for our road trip oop North to visit Miss F’s university. The weather forecast said heavy rain and I was hoping it was wrong. I hate motorway driving in the rain. The roads are slippery, and vision is impaired – especially as my windscreen wipers probably need replacing – and there are always idiots still driving way too fast despite the fact they can’t actually, you know, see!

I’d wanted us to be on the road no later than 10-ish and it was five to ten when we put the bags in the car and set off to get petrol on the way. The heavy rain held off, and although we did drive through a few downpours, it certainly wasn’t the monsoon we’d been promised. The roads were reasonably clear, and we made good time. We stopped at midday for lunch at one of those services they have on every motorway. This was a complex containing a Burger King, Subway, KFC, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, Waitrose, Starbucks, and bizarrely a WH Smiths – I suppose for any stationery emergency you might have.

Right up until we got there, Miss F had stated her desire for a Subway, then at the last minute changed her mind to a Burger King. I ordered a cheeseburger with bacon, but when it came it was minus the bacon despite the fact, I’d been charged 70p extra for it. Of course, Miss F wouldn’t let me say or do anything about that – what is it with teenagers and complaining about bad service? Will they grow out of it or are we raising a generation so afraid of being considered a “Karen” that they let everything go so good customer service will soon be a thing of the past?

Lunch was okay – it was a Burger King, there’s not a lot else to say about it – and 45 minutes later were back on the road.

The last time we took the M6 toll road there was a big accident up ahead causing three-hour delays so we’d had to get off early and try and make our way cross country, and I was hoping that wouldn’t happen again. But no, clear road and plain sailing all the way, and it was just gone 2:30pm when we pulled up outside the pub where we had booked to stay the night.

We checked in, booked our breakfast, and were given the key to our room. There were seven rooms in all, in what I think might have previously been a stable block. The room was lovely, cosy, and quirky, with a king-size bed in the main room, a nice size shower room, and a single bed in a nook for Miss F. We quickly unpacked, then drove to the local town of Nantwich to have a look around.

Like most very small towns, there wasn’t a lot to look at. We did pay a visit to the museum of local interest – and spent twenty minutes in there – it was a very small town, so not a lot of interest had ever happened. We wandered about a bit, then because we were both tired, we drove back to the pub, parked the car, and wandered down to the local shop to see if they sold any playing cards.

They didn’t, so we bought a soft drink each and returned to the pub and sat in their gorgeous garden. The sun was shining, and the bees were having a wonderful time in all the lavender and rose bushes that ringed the garden. Our dinner was booked for 6:30pm, so we killed an hour sitting in the sun, talking, and playing silly quiz games on Miss F’s phone before going back to our room and getting ready for dinner.

The pub we were staying in is over 250 years old and the restaurant was fabulous. All low wooden beams, tiny leaded windows, quirky tables with bookshelves built into them, and everywhere you looked a plethora of curiosities, knickknacks, and other oddities. It was wonderful, very atmospheric.

Miss F was still full of lunch so decided to just have a bowl of nachos and cheese. I chose the duck served in a wild cherry jus, with summer vegetables and sweet potato rosti. Then we both had dessert. I went for the raspberry and rhubarb crème Brulee and Miss F had raspberry and passionfruit cheesecake and ice cream – she went through about four lactase pills on that meal so she could digest the dairy.

Bizarrely, we had to vacate the restaurant at eight. I have no idea why, maybe it was because of the football or something, as England were playing Denmark that evening, but I took my second glass of wine back to the room and we sat on my bed and watched mindless TV for a while before going to bed.

So far, the mini-break had been fab, but then it all went wrong because my mattress was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever slept on! Seriously, extra firm doesn’t begin to cover it. The damn thing was solid, it was like sleeping on a slab of concrete. As someone who sells mattresses for a living, I know what I’m talking about, and this mattress was firmer than any we sell in our shop. I tossed and turned, but no matter which position I lay in my back was in serious pain. I tried lying on my side, but because there was absolutely no give in the mattress, I trapped nerves in my shoulders and hips and all my limbs were a painful mess of pins and needles.

It was a long and terrible night. There was a church clock tower next to the pub and every quarter-hour it would ding a little tune. On the actual hour, it would dong out the time with all the solemnity of Big Ben. I heard every single one of those dongs and would lay there counting them praying for it to be further through the night than I thought, and that maybe, just maybe, I’d slept through one. But no, midnight, one, two, three, four, and five … I heard them all.

Miss F was also very restless, tossing and turning, I don’t think her mattress was much better than mine but with the resilience of youth, she at least was managing to sleep. I didn’t want to sit up and read in case I disturbed her, so there I lay, blinking in the gloom and so tired – so very, very tired – but unable to sleep and wondering if the night would ever end.

Of course, eventually, it did. At 6am, Miss F got up and disappeared into the shower. Her hair must dry naturally otherwise it frizzes so she took the first turn, and I went in after her. We had to take Covid tests so got them out of the way early. I don’t like doing them, but they’re not as bad as I thought they were going to be and ten minutes after submitting our results on the NHS website we had our texts proving that we were bug-free, and I was able to have a cup of tea.

Our breakfast wasn’t booked until 9:30am so we had plenty of time to leisurely get ready and pack before wandering back to the quirky restaurant.

Breakfast was HOOGE!! There was a selection of cereals if you wanted them, toast with choices of jams, marmalades, and honey, and, of course, a full English breakfast. We didn’t know when we were going to eat again so both chose the full English, and it was very full. A giant sausage, two rashers of bacon, black pudding, baked beans, fried potatoes, mushrooms, grilled tomato, and a fried egg. Yum. It certainly stuck to the ribs and everywhere else it touched. Plus, fresh orange juice and all the tea and coffee you could drink.

Afterwards, we staggered back to our room to clean our teeth and finish loading up the car, Miss F’s tour of the university was at midday, and it was still only a little after ten, so we went and sat in the garden again enjoying the morning sunshine – it was blazing hot by this time despite all the weather warnings that Thursday was going to be chilly with torrential downpours – and the bees were once again busy.

It was only a ten-minute drive to the university, but Miss F was understandably keen not to be late so, at eleven, we got in the car and drove to it. By the time we’d found it, found the car park, parked, and made our way to the reception, we were in time to sit in the sun for a bit and have a drink before being collected by our tour guide and taken around the campus.

It’s wonderful there. We went all around the mini zoo they have and saw lots of animals. We were even able to view the accommodation and see the exact type of house Miss F will be living in. It’s very modern and clean and spacious. The mattress is a bit thin and I’m not sure how she’s going to like it after the very deep, luxurious, and expensive mattress she’s used to sleeping on – there are some perks to your mum working in a bed shop and getting excellent staff discount. I have bought her a thick quilted mattress topper but I’m now not sure it will be thick enough. Oh well, if she’s not comfortable I’ll have to see about buying her a proper thick memory foam topper.

After that we had a tour of the library and lecture rooms and then it was time to come home.

Because we’d had such a good run-up, I was hoping we’d be so lucky on the way back. I was aware of how very tired I was after my sleepless night, and when Miss F said she wanted to play her music I agreed, hoping it would keep me awake. We had no plans to stop on the way back – we had bottles of water in the car, we’d both used the ladies before leaving the university, and if it was only going to be three hours again, I said I’d much rather push for home and have a nice evening meal than another indifferent junk food pit stop. After all, that breakfast was still sticking and neither of us was hungry.

Luckily, the weather held for the most part and the roads were reasonably clear. We made excellent timing and three hours later we made a brief stop at my parents’ house to pick up Miss F’s new TV which she’d bought for her university room but had delivered to my parents as we were away.

Then we drove to Waitrose and basically bought whatever we fancied for dinner and then home!

Again, the trip back took three hours.

I put together a sharing platter for dinner as neither of us wanted a big, stodgy meal and we ate that at about seven. I had a couple of glasses of wine and Miss F had a bottle of sweet cider. And although it was very nice to go away, and we’d had a great time – it was oh so nice to be home – and it was wonderful to be back in my bed. Happiness is definitely a comfortable bed.

Today, Friday, is my day off and I must confess other than laundry and chat with you, I haven’t done a lot. Tomorrow it’s work, but only 10:30-4:30 so a reasonably short day, and then I have eleven whole days off. They are going to be days crammed with seeing friends and family to celebrate my birthday, reading, and hopefully lots of writing.

But of course, I will tell you all about it next week.

Julia Blake