A Postcard from My Sister.

the market/LAST sunday

How’s your watch?

Ah, it’s funny that you should ask.

About time?

I’d say! It’s been ages since we last spoke of my watch!

The blog is poorer for it.

I have to hand it to you - your question is very timely.

I like to face my responsibilities.

Ok, ooh, just a minute……, no, sorry … I can’t think of any more clock terms to slip into this opening salvo.

We can tick that off then and get back to the question – how is it?

Well, since you ask, the last two days it has stopped at exactly the same time – it was 7.15 in the morning when I looked at it, both days, and each time it told me it was 5 minutes past midnight.

Fascinating.

So I took it to the guy in the corner of the entrance to the supermarket, the one who cuts keys.

I know the guy; he’s got a corner next to the dry cleaning lady.

I asked him to change the battery.

What did he say?

Ten minutes.

Sense of humour then?

He also asked if I wanted to keep the waterproof feature?

Your watch has a feature?

Apparently.

Did you?

I declined, I usually take it off when I get in the bath.

One never needs to know the time in a bath. Only the temperature.

There you go – an innocent blog post about a watch and not only have we come up with a bit of humour but some philosophy for life enhancement!

You couldn’t ask for more, though any readers may well do – this might not be the fare they are expecting. Incidentally, did you hear about the president, French, and the clock in his new ‘official’ photo.

No I didn’t. Enlighten me kind sir.

Well, there’s a clock on the desk.

That’s it? I’ve a clock on MY desk.

You have EVERYTHING on your desk EXCEPT a clock.

That’s not true, I cleared up the other day – I mean, the bit about everything, there is no clock you’re right.

You cleared up your desk and didn’t write about it? This is a first. Tell me more about the President’s clock.

Apparently it’s significant.

How can a clock be significant? Is your watch significant?

It has a new battery! That’s significant.

Hardly a significant detail, as we have been promised this year.

I’m struggling, I was hoping this piece would go somewhere , but even with the links you can click on it is dissolving into a gooey mess.

Tell me a story then.

Ok.

A very wet bird has just landed on my windowsill – it has that drowned rat look that the cat sometimes has when the cat comes in from the forest after a night of rain.

The bird is a blue tit, small in statue and it looks like it’s shivering; it is clearly sheltering from the wind and rain.

Taking time.

I don’t think it can see me, even though I am no more than the length of my body away; I am in bed. It’s Saturday morning and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now than in this bed watching the bird; I have a very vague plan to get up and stretch and then go for a run but the idea of going down to the kitchen and coming back with breakfast is stronger. I can’t run once I’ve eaten.

There IS a cat asleep on the bed next to my knee; I can feel the warmth oh his body against my leg. The cat/bird proximity is potentially explosive but for the moment neither is aware of the other.

It is possible that neither can hear the sound of the keyboard as I write as the sound merges almost perfectly with that of the rain on the leaves of the oak tree, standing not far from the bedroom window.

As I listen I can hear also the noise from the wheels of the post-lady’s car as she drives towards the house down the dirt track connecting us to the road; she stops, her door opens, there are surely footsteps - though I can’t hear them- then a pause, and the car door shuts.

Then she drives away.

There is mail in the box.

I’m tempted to go look, but… I don’t think I finally placed the order for the obscure recording outtakes I discovered whilst trawling the amazon site, there will be no love letters and although July suggests the possibility of a holiday postcard it is more likely to be an unexpected automatic speeding or parking fine.

I can anticipate the fresh touch of the rain on my neck if I go to look, but it needs to be something brighter than a summons to move me from the folds of these blankets and duvet.

Like the bird on my windowsill, I prefer to stay put.

A cat would have gone.

I did!

And?

I was wrong, and/or prescient; there WAS a postcard!