The Cows of Winscombe IV 16th September: A Car, A Cow, and a Conversation
But first, a Trades Description announcement; if you are expecting a photo of several cows due to the title The Cows of Winscombe, this post will disappoint. It’s singular, not plural. One cow.
If cows can be demure, this one was!
By Midday
Guttering and drainage fixed. Hopefully, the damp walls can dry out.
As well as dealing with rain pouring down the front of the house rather than the traditional route, down a gutter, much of this week has been working my way through the e-jungle of registration at Exeter University. By midday yesterday, I had succeeded, and my laptop, via some Exeter App, informed me that I had passed Induction and could see my timetable.
With some apprehension, I opened up the timetable to find that I’d missed my first lecture. For those who have followed my attempts to breach the wall of e-communications at Exeter to start a Master's, 48 years after beginning my Chemistry degree in 1977, you’ll understand my comment to a friend: ‘nothing new then, straight back to 1977.’ Let’s just say early morning lectures and I didn’t see eye to eye.
This time around, I’m hoping to be better behaved.
4pm
A thud outside my front door and a cheerful delivery driver climbing back into his van as I opened the door to find another parcel, whilst muttering to myself, ‘What have I ordered now?’
But excitement was to follow. It was the Proof Copy of The Bait Digger, my debut novel, written at an age I should have known better.
By 4.15, cup of tea and a slab of dark chocolate in hand, I sat in the back garden, green pen raised to spot any mistakes. And found some. A French accent aigu had gone acute, and an apostrophe was missing, so it’s vital work.
5.30pm
Text my neighbour. ‘Fancy coming with me to drop my car off at the garage and walk back in the dark, the wind, and the rain?’ The reply, ‘Aww, sorry, am booked into a steam and a sauna. Thanks for asking.’ I sensed a wry smile.
But her sauna was cancelled, and for some strange reason, the idea of fighting the elements appealed, and off we went. It should have been about a 45-minute round trip. The wind was really kicking up. Great stuff, and even before sunset, it was getting dark. However conversation drifted to receiving my Proof Copy, and neighbour said unto me, ‘We should celebrate’. After a detour along some farm tracks, and passing the singular cow, we sat down with two glasses of wine at one of the best pubs in the universe - The Crown - and nattered on whilst the rain pounded down on the plastic corrugated sheet above our heads.
Her mobile phone torch is probably the reason we’re not still wandering around the footpaths of North Somerset as I sit here composing this post.
So, that’s it. A Car, A Cow, and a Conversation.
It’s funny how our days unfold.
I struggle with this verse:
‘And in Your book were written all the days ordained for me before one of them came to be’ Psalm 139v16
It smacks of an unavoidable preordained existence, when my experience is of randomness, occasionally very poor planning, laziness, dilemmas, highs and lows and so on.
‘Teach us to number our days so we may gain a heart of wisdom’ Ps 90v12
That sounds about right. Work to be done, then.