Traditionally i’m not in the habit of posting photos of dusty, ancient arm chairs. It is incredibly comfortable and free to a good home, just needs a touch of TLC and we’re cooking on gas.
The breakfast room was warm, the radiators were on, the electric convector heater was doing its job. I sat with my cup of fancy instant on the pouffe, the same cord tied around as was 30 years ago, the same knot I had probably tied. I moved the daily mail and a glossy magazine, not country life, maybe Leicester life and he stood up to help me move things, stacking them up under the telephone table, gasping and straining, a change in the rhythm of normality. No one usually sits here, the papers usually sit here, we don’t usually have to deal with this, things must move from where they usually sit.
The coffee was good but the milk; the delivered glass bottles, solid with cream at the top, needing to be pierced with the handle of the tea spoon to release the milk, this makes the coffee greasy, oily. I love creamy milk but not here.
I walked from the breakfast room into the kitchen when she left to fetch the iPad, still kept in the box, on the dining room table, 35%. The kitchen was slightly cooler, but i know where the biscuits are kept and so i quietly opened the long cupboard, kneeling, and opened the Tupperware. The biscuits stacked up on top of each other, type by type, brand by brand. Some incredibly thick M&S chocolate biscuit bars in foil next to M&S jammy dodgers adjacent to some shortbread (M&S probably), all stacked so when you take one you must take care to slide the Biscuit tin back with no jolting, these things might be checked. Which is a weird thing to assume.
I thought of putting the milk back into the fridge which was through another door, the door with the calendar on, pictures of the kids. The kitchen is clean and fine, some condensation on the windows, but no more than any house over 200 years old and without double glazing, one expects it. In the March the windows open and the house breaths a deep spring absorbing breath, drys it all out.
The brace latch lock on the next door, makes a noise as i open and walk through into the “utility” room. This is where the utilities are kept, also the washing machine, the spin dryer, the fridge freezer, the top loading freezer, there is also a slightly rickety hostess trolly with a doiley, cider and mild on top (he’ll like this), theres a boiler and a big red dome which is part of the boiler, the coats and the wellingtons, a sink, underneath is a box housing the shoe cleaning kit, there is a set of golf clubs, there is a tennis ball and a golf ball in a plastic saucer on the draining board, a rectangular vase with glass balls which i think i bought for a birthday present, hanging from the ceiling is a clothes dryer. There is a film of water in the air, the front of the fridge is dappled with dampness, and the front of the freezer is brown with rust. This is where the whisky and ginger comes from.