Friday Afternoon

Friday 8th April

Day 352

The woman at the Toyota garage says something about sticking calipers and brake discs and rust but I’m not really listening - I’ve seen the quote for the repair on the piece of paper she’s showing me - nearly £700.

‘Go away and think about it,’ she says.

But I know I don’t have a choice. And I thought it was just going to be a minor wheel alignment. I love my car.

I call in at Sainsbury’s on the way back and arrive home a few minutes before my nephew rings the doorbell. I just have time to strip off my hot socks and shoes and throw open the patio doors. It feels like high summer in the garden. We sit at the table with tall glasses of ginger and elderflower cordial clinking with ice cubes and lemon slices, talking food and recipes for Easter. A little later my husband comes home from the allotment smelling of petrol from the strimmer, flecks of grass sticking to his neck.

My nephew leaves with a big bag of rhubarb picked by my husband yesterday. We discovered he loves it and he cooks it like I do with orange zest. He says he has it on his porridge in the mornings - something I hadn’t thought of. I could try it tomorrow.