A flotilla of swans at Exeter Quay yesterday evening squabbling over bread.
After the meeting, and all that concentrating on fine financial detail, my head feels like a water balloon that could burst at any moment. In the end we write our names on a thousand forms - Robin's signature all spidery and wobbly - and simply trust our lovely advisor has found us the best options for our financial future.
I'm deeply grateful to him. And to Robin for enabling us to have a future at all and not be staring into a scary abyss of poverty in our old age. How we'll ever manage to pay for possible long term care for Robin is another question for another time which I can't think about now.
Tonight I have a craving for mashed potato. I pour in a glug of olive oil, add scrunches of sea salt and get busy with the masher. But it's just not the same without slabs of butter melting into the potato lumps. So I give in and end up with a mountain of smooth creamy indulgence to have with the veggie sausages, tahini garlic dressing, peas and purple sprouting broccoli piled on our plates.
A soothing antidote to the water balloon in my head.
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