21st July 2011 Thursday
A lovely day - unplanned - taking the road less travelled - which for me means doing some spur of the moment things. I notice how rare that is for me.
My husband comes to the market with me and carries the basket as we weave in and out of the stalls buying fragrant handfuls of basil and coriander, a huge beef tomato bursting out of it’s skin in pink slits, a dozen eggs, a bunch of finger carrots, a loaf of speckled rye bread and a slab of rough coral skinned bream from the fishmonger.
On the way back to the car we dip into the musty cavern of St Pancreas Church and sit for a while on hard chairs in a palpable stillness and a silence unpolluted by the chattering voices of shoppers swirling in the mall outside.
We leave our bags and walk to the cinema to book tickets for Harry Potter next week. It’s not open so we wander back through a graveyard and over the catacombs and stop to read the information notice about them. We moved to Exeter seven years ago and I realise I know very little about our city. An old priory down a narrow alleyway is a lovely surprise and we resolve to come back another day as tourists - I want to learn the story of where I live.
It’s steamy hot at our own market - the allotment - and while my husband carries the watering cans to and fro I pick the first long fat peas, swiss chard and lettuces, spring onions and drum head cabbages, sweet peas with short crinkled stems and bright orange marigolds. I shell the peas for lunch and toss them into a basil and tomato salad. Each one is a precious gem, sweet as sugar crystals in our mouths.
Later I potter in the garden dead heading the pansies and geraniums and watering the beds under the hedges where the rain hasn’t fallen. I take photos of a tangerine and red lipped rose we brought with us from our garden in St Albans called Tequila Sunrise.
And let my day unfold around me - a bolt of silk cloth, unravelling - showing me the less travelled way.
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