This morning you would have thought the house was going to blow over and thank goodness we’re not in a house; the remains of the willow tree took a beating though. For once the forecasters were correct and gale force winds had London in their clutches. By noon it was dark and the rain was pelting down. All thoughts of a walk dissipated as I watched the remains of our rose bushes bend and twist, bravely hanging on to their few remaining blooms.
By one o’clock I needed to stretch my legs. The wooden kitchen chair I insist on having at my desk is not very comfortable. I can manage three hour stints at the most. Which is good given my zeal for writing and researching in an attempt to drum up business for my radio show. I wandered into the living room where hubs was transferring years of addresses from several notebook pages, onto a spreadsheet on his PC finally joining the 21st century, or at least, partially. I suggested he use his email to store phone numbers, which he can access from any computer, but he prefers his method which will allow him to print, fold and tote then manually amend as needs be!
I noticed the rain had stopped and the sun was shining in this room so I announced my intent to go on a walk. Pointless even suggesting to hubs that he join me as he has a Texan’s utter disdain for mud; it had been raining steadily for hours and he knows my walks veer off the beaten track through the meadows and ancient woodlands of Beckenham Place Park.
I donned a pair of inherited Wellingtons not wanting to have to avoid puddles and soggy grasslands, and set off for an hour between showers.
I saw my usual dogs, alsatians, labradors, spaniels and terriers. They were happy to be out away from the warm and dry hearth of the home fires. The owners were happy to have welligtons so they could talk on their mobiles without having to watch their footing!
Two dogs were off in the meadows chasing tennis balls, their owner patiently stooping and throwing, using a magnificent contraption resembling a plastic lacrosse stick which allows them to hurl objects through the air with a minimum of effort.
Canine others chased through the woodlands spraying water and mud on all who got in their way; a couple of the long haired versions were cooling off in streams that had burst their banks in the deluge, their owners resigning themselves to baths and towellings when they got home!
I trudged through the muddy lanes and wondered whose Wellingtons I was wearing. I felt ‘one of them’ amidst the ranks of the Wellie Brigade.
My mother would not have been caught in rubber boots,
“Not very flattering,” she would say, “and I daresay, smelly after a while, no chance for the foot to breathe.”
I would say,
“But Mummy, the Queen wears wellies.”
“Well I’m not the Queen,” she’d answer neatly tying her headscarf and donning her Hush Puppies!
They must have been Daddy’s, shame he didn’t drive a Landrover.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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