It’s a pretty ordinary kind of a day once they’ve all headed off for school. I strip two beds and start the laundry, nip out into the garden to plants a couple of packets of sunflower seeds, throw a couple of pots, bake a pair of loaves, take the dog for his customary two hour’s walk, fix two sprinkler heads, trim a couple of pots, carve one, attempt un-blurry photographs of said pots, return to supper preparations. As I peel potatoes at the sink I have the chance to listen to the radio on NPR where Michael Krasny interviews Germaine Greer about her latest fascinating book called Shakespear’s Wife, Anne Hathaway. My hands peel but by brain is back in Merry olde England, the trials of serfs, the division of labour, women’s rights and a whole slew of ancient memories of when I had a fully functioning brain when the phone rings.
The school requests collection of one ever so slightly, physically dented child.
I suspend all productivity and hare off to the school, then to the doctor, the radiologist and finally the Chemist for a sling. No permanent damage except to our finances and to her pride for apparently playing soccer with her hands!
This is why I shall never be an intellectual. Maybe I should buy the book?