In The Round

In the grounds of a NT's house, A la Ronde, at Exmouth -  these sawn up logs had a strong sweet smell of almonds....

Cheese wedges come to mind..

Diamonds....

 I love it that the architect chose hearts to ring the chimneys....

 In the small garden around the house -  a grandfather tree with solitary crow...

A la Ronde, near Exmouth - a sixteen-sided house built for two women cousins - Jane and Mary Parminter  - about 1796.

I still miss my wonderful cleaner - keeping the dust at bay every week. Now it's up to me. I've been feeling burdened by the enormity of the housework I don't do. My husband does a great hoovering job on a Monday and that's about it.

Yesterday I stood in the kitchen talking to the plumber for a long time while he drained the boiler. While we chatted I  cleaned and polished the sink. It looks so much better. And ridiculously I feel so much better. So now I've caught the spring cleaning bug and I want to make the whole kitchen shine - within the boundaries of its ten year old shabbiness anyway.

It feels like it would take whole days and days to do ....and I don't have the luxury of that. But this morning when my husband comes back from walking with his lovely supporter from Age UK, he goes for a lie down before lunch. And while he sleeps, and my tummy rumbles, I clean a few sticky cupboard doors and wash the dusty teapots on the shelves and contemplate the state of the oven.

And I realise I can do incremental, mini-spring cleaning - one crumb-speckled drawer, one smeary window, one finger-marked door at a time.  Little bites instead of great gulps.....Which means instead of spending all afternoon scrubbing the kitchen - which I was planning to do - I can spend it with my husband whose ceramic class is cancelled.

 Time together - resentful free - feels precious now. And I know I'll still have a clean kitchen somehow -  even if it's not now or all in one go. 

So this afternoon we wander through the tiny, cluttered, shell-filled rooms of A la Ronde House in the half light and just manage a circular tour of the spring gardens before great gusts of rain splatter out of the white-out sky and we run into the basement cafe, which once was the kitchen, for a cup of tea - and a very mediocre slice of carrot cake.

 And I didn't once wish I was at home shining my kitchen sink.