Wednesday, December 1, 2021

November, in all the senses

As November waves us goodbye, I'm sitting by the radiator, the Great Boo next to me. Earlier in the morning, I could see the frost glinting the edges of the shed and the Degoba System, so I'm going to stay in here with my coffee for a little longer. The rest of the house is asleep while I've been up for a little while pondering the question "to marquee or not to marquee, that is the expense." My heart (and bank) say no, my head (and experience of English weather) say yes. 

This burning issue (oddly, the same one my Mum and I nearly fell out over for my previous wedding, and why the hell is a bit of tarpaulin and some rope so bleeding expensive? It's not like I get to live in it afterwards) aside, here is how I've experienced November. 

Taste - marsala fries (new addiction), soups both spicy and warming, gluten free lasagne that took 5 hours to make, trifle at my nephew's birthday, pizza gobbled late after evening pilates

Smell - leaf mould and damp soil, muddy canal water, fireworks and smoke, an espresso scented candle that made me sneeze, onions caramelizing for French Onion Soup.

Sight - snow caught on nearby hilltops before it could reach us, warm glows from uncurtained windows, The Great Boo and Tiny Wee Mabel off their tiny rockers on catnip, destruction at the plot following Storm Arwen. 

Sound - the local fox shouting at the moon, robins telling each other off in the trees, the Beatles, parcels flopping onto the hall mat, the repaired boiler springing back into life, my nephew's voice cracking on maturity

Touch - blankets on top of duvets on top of a pyjama-ed me as we shivered through a boiler malfunction, the itch of winter jumpers, frozen raspberries on the plot, the rough wood of the lock system as I helped a barge owner open it, the shape of N's head as I cut his hair. 

December lands with a great clang today and there are Lists to be made. What to get, what food to prepare. A tree to buy and tattered decorations to shake out of their boxes. Train tickets to book and cards to write. I’ll get round to it all, as soon as this wretched cold let’s go. 

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