Saturday 2nd October
Day 164
I pick the snails off the back of the patio chairs and brush away the red maple-shaped leaves of the Russian vine sticking to the seats. My husband had stacked them away in the shelter of the fence, thinking summer was over.
We eat our scrappy salad lunch at the wooden table, our faces turned to the unexpected gift of warm sunshine. A trickle of dirty brown water from the leaking boiler runs between the pots of pink begonias and red geraniums - still blooming as if it was July. I realise the remnants of yesterday’s headache have floated away like feather fluff on the wind.
And now there is all that holiday ironing to do before I collect my sweet elder sister from the station. Maybe I’ll ask her to help me as she is a master ironer.
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