6th April 2012 Good Friday
Even though I can see the sun, bright behind the curtains, I stay in bed till late, enthralled by my book - Pure by Andrew Miller. It’s set in pre revolutionary France - 1780s - the story of an engineer charged with digging up the cemetery of a church in the centre of Paris. The smell was polluting the city.
It sounds morbid but I’m so transported that I find it hard to bring myself back to our Good Friday task of digging out the compost bin which we haven’t done for 2 years. It’s rich black soil now full of brindling worms, broken egg shells and avocado pips. It smells a bit though - mostly of rotting vegetables. At least we don’t have to deal with putrid old bones.....
I think my husband finds my sensitivity to smell tiresome sometimes. I can detect the acrid varnish he sprays on his ceramics even at the bottom of the garden. So bringing the pieces into the house is a problem for me. But this is where they live.
Compromise - it’s such a finely judged art. One I’m not very good at. At least my husband would agree with me on that.
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