Squirrel incident

Hot sunny day. I went out into the garden first things to breath-in lungfuls of poo-tainted air, as the local farmers and been manuring their fields again. Pat and Maureen went back to Ashford with Lorraine who will stay to help them with packing, before, fingers crossed, they return to become Seafordians next week. 

At one, I took Calliope to the vets. Normally she is howling in the car, but she peeped only once as I carried the cat basket on foot to our nearby vet. Friendly guy behind the desk, with a bulldog snoozing at his feet. A woman vet I had not seen before, weighed Calliope and said she has lost a good deal of weight. I agreed to a blood test as her thyroid dosage needs adjusting. I hope it is as simple as that, as Calliope is just two weeks short of her 16th birthday. As I was about to pay, a woman came in brandishing a dead grey squirrel which she had found in the road. The vet listened for a heartbeat, but the squirrel was dead. A bit sad and a bit surreal at the same time. The squirrel woman returned with her dog, who had an appointment, plus another woman and another dog, much to Calliope's distaste. She was spoilt at top cats vets. 

Home and I continued writing in ten minute intervals, and seemed to produce a poem. Pat and Maureen got ready, and Lorraine made cucumber relish and pickled fennel all from Kenny farm produce. I was offered some work from Germany which I declined. Felt good to say no, but it still makes me feel briefly weird when I do.

I went to the gym after they left, and then home to a quiet empty house, I pottered about, spooned cucumber relish into jars, watered the greenhouse and so on, showered ate and then met Steve for a beer in The Boot, and we went then Steamworks for a change. Steve had been out looking at an old airfield on the cliffs the allies had used to land on in damaged or out of fuel planes. 

Home, spoke to Lorraine and ate cheese on toast and two reprehensible digestive biscuits. Then bed.