Friday February 14th.
Valentine’s Day.
Last Valentine’s Day a guy, to whom I had been writing,
after becoming a contact on Yahoo Answers, flew from France to Manchester,
zoomed across from there to Sheffield all with the intention of delivering
flowers to me for Valentine’s Day.
I had suspected he might be planning something owing to the
nature of his e-mail messages so I went incognito for a week. I avoided Y!A and
didn’t open my e-mail account. I don’t know what I was expecting to find, maybe
he’d bought me something from Amazon or Diamond Geezer or something. I
certainly didn’t expect him to have flown to the UK to give me flowers!
I felt so guilty that I hadn’t been there to receive them.
He had taken photo’s of his hotel in Sheffield, the bouquet, the spot where he
had asked me to meet him; lots of pictures in fact.
The snag was [still is] I didn’t feel anything for him like
he obviously felt for me. It is a bit like my relationship with Christopher at
work; he is like a love struck puppy, I am Cruella De Ville! The difference
with Christopher is he hasn’t fallen for a disembodied person at the end of an
e-mail connection or on Yahoo Answers, he has fallen for the real life, flesh
and blood, sarcastic little blonde cow at his place of employment.
What Eremey did [I know he won’t mind being mentioned by name]
was the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me in my short spell
of time on the planet. I am not exaggerating! It was truly a gesture of epic
proportions and if I had felt the same for him as he felt for me I think we’d
have become an item, without a doubt. I did tell him, at the time, that if he
did a similar thing for a girl he actually knew in real life he would probably be
welcomed unconditionally. I sincerely
hope he has this year. For his sake.
We drifted apart over the following year and now we no
longer regularly correspond, this is probably a good thing as Laura moved in
with me last September. I occasionally hear from him and if he reads this I
just want him to know there is a small corner of my heart reserved for what he
tried to do that day in 2013. I am sorry I was such a cow and that my actions
spoiled your beautiful gesture and our further correspondence. If you continue
to shower a future GF with similar attention and affection you will find true
happiness. I hope you do.
Laura knows all about it [I try to have almost no secrets
from her] and she says if a guy had done that for her she might have seriously
suspended her lesbianism just for him! [Only temporarily, but he would have
deserved it.]
This Valentine’s morning I left a card and present on
Laura’s bedside cupboard whilst I walked Callie, before our swim. She met me on
the way back with a kiss and cuddle and she then bundled me into the car so we
weren’t late at the pool. Foolishly I was imagining she had arranged something
for me there.
She hadn’t.
We did our lengths, showered and dried off and rushed back
home. She seemed quite anxious and fretful. At 8.10 I found out why. A delivery
person rang our doorbell, he was hidden behind a huge bunch of red roses – for
me! The note said, “They were white but
I painted every one red because I love you so much!” She knows I love white
flowers so this was a lovely thing to say in her note. I started crying and did
so for quite a few minutes. Laura joined in too after a bit. I put the roses
down and tried to kiss her tears away but she ended up intercepting my mouth
with hers and we had a major snog in our conservatory. We broke away and
started giggling. I went and found a vase and began to arrange the flowers in
it. She came and hugged me from behind and buried her head into the hair at the
back of my neck.
“You have made me a different person since we started going
out…“ I tried to answer but she put her hand over my mouth. “Shush! Before that
I was wandering in a directionless way, feeling helpless about my emotions and
despairing of ever finding someone I could love as much as I loved you from
afar. When you returned my kiss on Piccadilly Station I was the happiest girl
on earth. When you let me sleep in your bed I thought I would just burst with
joy. Moving in with you has turned me from being a chrysalis into a butterfly.
I love you so much. I can’t imagine what I would be like now if it wasn’t for
you!”
I almost said something stupid and sarcastic. I held it
back. If Richard had poured out his heart to me like that, I would have replied
with my usual sharp tongue as a way of deflecting the emotion. I just couldn’t
with Laura.
We drove into work in sunshine, and not just from the sun [which
was putting in a rare appearance].
The concert this evening was excellent. The Prokofiev was
the ideal thing to hear on Valentine’s Day, apart from the stupidly pointless
deaths at the end, of course. The Liszt Piano Concerto was just as it sounds on
my old Richter recording, fury and passion directed at the keyboard. It is
quite a good accompaniment for the R&J. I have only heard the Bartok once
before and I thought we were given an excellent performance though it wasn’t in
the same league as the first two pieces.
If I had been planning the programme I would have given us something
more lyrical to counterpoint the passion and fury of the first two pieces.
There must’ve been a lot of people out in town as we had to
park in car park on Arundel Gate and then brave the howling gale which was
whipping through the city. I was going to wear my floaty lace dress but I am
glad I went for my blue jersey instead. The lace thing would have billowed
beyond control in the wind and may have been impossible to control whereas the
jersey was much better behaved. In retrospect trousers of some description
would have been a far more sensible option all round!
There was no Mrs Briggs at the concert which was unusual but
we did strike up a conversation, over interval drinks [theirs were on the same
card as our and we arrived to collect them simultaneously] with a couple
celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary at the concert. We have
seen them at a few concerts here before and I think they recognised us by sight
too.
Laura told them she thought it was wonderful that they had
lasted so long together [or words to that effect]. She hugged my arm and said,
“I hope Vicki and I can make it that long too.” I was expecting the eyes to
roll into the back of their heads and for them to walk away but they didn’t.
The woman asked how long we’d been together and Laura told them 18 months but
we moved in together 6 months ago. She also told them I was the best thing that
had happened to her. I think I blushed at this point. [I couldn’t help but
think the same thing, though. She is the best thing that could have happened to
me, too.] I made a joke about it as usual.
I manoeuvred the conversation away from us back to them and
asked if they’d any children. They have a two, a boy and girl. The girl is
married with two children of her own; the boy is in America and a bit of a
drifter really. I think they thought he was a drifter because he had no partner
and said he hated the idea of having children ever, too.
I thought this was getting a wee bit too personal so I moved
on to the concert instead. They were enjoying it so far and thought that the
programme promised to be very good. I mentioned the Beethoven String Quartets
we were going to see tomorrow and they were surprised they hadn’t heard of that
concert. I had to fill them in with details and they muttered about phoning up
to see if there were any tickets, in the morning. While they were at it I also
put in a good word for the Firth Hall series of concerts and they’d not heard
of those either! I am amazed at how little people actually explore what is
going on in their own town or city. I find this at work too. I mention
something we are going to and get blank looks or questions like, “Where did you
hear about that, then?” We parted on the bell, learning that they would be at
the next three City Hall concerts as we. I bet we don’t see them tomorrow
though!
I walked Callie in the gale at home after I had changed out
of my dress. The wind was whistling around places it oughtn’t to be whistling,
so I put some jeans on. Despite the force of the wind, whilst walking her up to
Onescare, there was no rain. As if the gods had favoured me especially, I had
just locked up the conservatory door, as we got back in, and the hose pipe in
the sky was turned on full blast. Phewee Muskey. That could have been us out
there getting wet if I had lingered over my drinking chocolate like I was going
too. It was only the fact it was far too hot which sent me out at the time I
did.
Saturday Feb15th.
It was still really blowy again this morning but no rain.
The puddles across Long Lane, though, stretched from one side of the road to
the other. A sure sign there has been a deluge. We went to the pool driving
through large puddles across the Old Manchester Road too.
We did out 100 as usual and had a chat with Sarah before we
left. She was envious of the fact we were going out again tonight. She moaned
that she hardly ever goes out anymore. I told her we went out to see stuff
because I was brought up doing that and it was second nature to me. Laura just
got dragged along whether she liked it or not. She butted in with “Yeah. It’s
terrible…!”
I smiled at that because she never used to use sarcasm at
all.
We did the boring old, boring old stuff this morning; menu
planning, shopping, washing, cleaning. Well, we had a division of labour, I did
the washing and cleaning while Laura went and did the shopping. It got her from
under my feet for an hour and a half and I was able to whizz round attacking
the dirt. Mum says I see dirt where none exists but I know the little buggers
are lurking there.
Laura had brought some apple lattice Danish pastries back
with her from the shops, which were delicious BTW. So after polishing those off
I decided we could have a go at making our own. I defrosted a bag of our
homemade apple puree. While that was defrosting I set to and made the pastry.
It was at this point I realised we had no cinnamon. Curses! Laura went to
Muriel’s, next door, to see if she had any – she didn’t. She then leapt the
fence to Julie’s on the other side and came back with some cinnamon held in
Julie’s hand!
Laura had invited her round for a cuppa and to watch the
great Sheffield Bake Off in action! She really is getting good with this
sarkiness. We had a good gossip and caught up with all that had been happening
during our sojourn at Dad’s. Julie hadn’t even known about the arson on the
opposite hillside, though, which made me wonder just how reliable her gossip
was. She did say that Sylvia, who owns the newsagent’s, was thinking of
retiring. I told her she had been telling me that since I had moved in.
Apparently though, she has had a couple of people round looking at the business
with a view to buying it.
My apple cinnamon Danish pastries looked and smelled
wonderful. I had glazed them with a honey mixture which gave them a golden glow
when they came out of the oven. It was all we could do to resist trying one
straight away. I recounted my hot potato incident from January, which made
Julie decide not to chance it after all. We put three on a tray and stood them
on a table in the conservatory which doesn’t have heating on at the moment, in
an attempt to cool them down. Delicious. Different to the ones Laura had bought
but just as good.
We almost lost all three though as Callie somehow managed to
nuzzle open the kitchen door; it was only Julie shouting “No!” that stopped her
thieving the lot! She doesn’t snaffle things very often but she has got form
for being an opportunist if temptation is placed in her way. That isn’t
anthropomorphism, it is doggy nature [and human nature too, if you think about
it].
Tonight’s concert was far more cerebral that last night’s
offering from the Halle. The weather was also far more clement. We both wore
trousers, though, in case we were going to be caught out by the weather
changing on us! I had some chino type things on and Laura wore skinny jeans
which made her look slimmer than ever.
The Quartets played were the Opus 18, the 74 [Harp] and the
130. The 130 had die Grosse fuge (Opus 133) finale. The Elias Quartet were
excellent and their finale of the 130 just as brilliant as it is on my
recording of it. It is so modern sounding, which sounds odd as it was written
almost 200 years ago. The Upper Chapel venue was a new one for me but it was a
very good, if intimate concert space. We were close enough to watch a bead of
perspiration trickle down the viola player’s face at one point!
The drinks couple from last night obviously hadn’t tried to
get tickets as there were a few empty spaces around the room. Maybe they were
just being very good at hiding their hatred of lesbianism. LOL. The gig was
over pretty quickly it seemed and we were back out in Tudor Square amid hordes
of youngsters going to get bladdered in the millions of bars in the city
centre. We merely behaved like old fogeys and headed for our car and drove back
to my little house.
That is the second time since Christmas we have had two
things on consecutive nights and then a long lull in between. I will have to
have a word with our “Ents Organiser”. Oh, That would be me! Checking the diary we don’t have back to back
items planned as far as I can see. We do have a gap of just a day between two
things in May though! We are seeing “Yes”, with my Dad and Louisa on the 7th
of May and then the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra on the 9th. I
think they are both at the City Hall too!
Had a message on our answer machine from Dad when we got in.
He and Louisa were in the van on Arran and it is wonderful. Jealousy rules at
the moment. I will phone in the morning for an update!
The moon was just past full tonight, as I walked the “would
be Danish pastry thief”, but if anything the light was even better. I didn’t
need the torch at all as everything was so clear. The only snag with the place
we live is the hilliness [if there is such a word], it would be nice to have an
uninterrupted view all round instead of being hemmed in by the geography. I
think that may be a metaphor form my life really.
Sunday 16th February.
I phoned the aged parent three times this morning but his
bloody phone was switched off! Grrrr!
We bit the bullet and decided to go for a walk. I wanted to
have an all-round view so we drove to Bamford and went up Win Hill. The weather
was lovely but the paths up and down the small Marilyn were as boggy as hell
[if hell is boggy, that is?]. For such a small height gained I was amazed at
how steep the slope was from the dam wall at the foot. The path though could
have been negotiated in the dark by a blind man, it was so well defined. Yes,
that is a euphemism for seriously eroded!
The summit is a funny shape rather like Pen-y-Ghent but on a
smaller scale, being nearly 1000 feet lower. However, as it is a stand-alone
peak, albeit with a low ridge running north west to Kinder Scout it has
brilliant views, especially to the south.
The northern view takes in Ladybower reservoir and then the
path to Alport Castles through Crook Hill where the Scampi Tails were almost
crushed to death in a stampede last year. [It’s in the blog somewhere.] This is
a very photogenic vista and would have made a wonderful piccie, if I had
remembered my camera. My phone’s camera is pathetic in comparison to my SLR but
I snapped a few from it anyway. The view to the west was very enticing, taking
in Lose Hill [alongside Win Hill, there is obviously a story in these two peaks’
names] and Mam Tor. It looked like there could be a rather good circular walk
which takes in both of those tops centred on Castleton. This will call for some
research.
I had booked lunch at the Yorkshire Bridge Inn so we
scurried down in order to make our 1.30pm time slot. Full Sunday Roast Dinner
with all the trimmings. Yummy in our tummies.
After lunch I drove into Bamford village to look at a house
that is for sale. It looks pretty nice on the webpage. It’s a stone built, full
modernised, detached cottage with two bedrooms, double glazing and gas central
heating. I couldn’t quite make it out adequately using street view so we went
for a proper look. [I am not thinking of moving but this place looked so nice
and it is in the Peak District National Park; it also has a regular train
service to Sheffield…]
It is better to see the real thing than rely on web pages.
The house is beautiful. It is made from local millstone grit and in the centre
of the village but, and it is a big but, there is no garden to speak of at all.
It is surrounded on three sides by gravel and one side is someone else’s
property altogether. It was disappointing because if it had anything like a
decent garden I would have considered putting in an offer for the place. It is
a bit further out from Sheffield than where my little house is at the moment
but it is right in the middle of glorious walking country and has a very
appealing grit stone edge right above the village which has several interesting
route along it for climbing. Ah well. It was obviously not meant to be. The
asking price £250K is far too much for what is on offer. If I bought it, I
would be losing a bedroom, the cellar and a lovely long garden. In this case
both the head and the heart say No!
Tried Dad again when we got back in. Still no answer. Unless
there is a bad connection on the island for his network, he is heading for slap
next weekend when we are up in Cumbria again! When we stayed in Whiting Bay
last Easter there was an excellent T-Mobile signal at the cottage which allowed
me to use my tablet to surf the net. Knowing Dad his network is some parsimonious
one which has the connectivity of an analogue TV signal!
We decided to have an early night after all our strenuous hiking
activity this morning and we hit the charp by about 10.45. I bet tomorrow’s weather is back to being
grotty again, still as we are back at work it doesn’t matter does it?
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