Jazz, sex and honeymoons

The girls have just called round with a key so I can keep an eye on things while they’re off on their honeymoon.

‘Would you like me to water your plants?’ I said with a sense of what was coming.

‘Oh, please!’ ET said, ‘oh, and do you think you could keep an eye on the overflow from the downstairs bathroom?’

‘And there’s milk in the fridge if you’d like that.’

‘If there are any tomatoes that the slugs don’t eat, please have those.’

‘And some of my dad’s tomatoes in a bag on the kitchen floor.’

‘And a loaf of bread – do you want that?’

‘How about some flowers – we can’t enjoy them, so please have them.’

So I went over and came back, laden, like a camel. Not bad for a bit of plant watering.

Walking Mollie round the castle this morning, I was aware of heavy breathing beside me. I looked at Himself who was walking along with his eyes shut.

Had he got something in his eye? Was he about to have a heart attack? (After his meal last night of salad laden with mayonnaise, new potatoes covered in butter, followed by cheese, I wouldn’t be surprised. He, of course, looked injured when I suggested that such a meal might not be perfectly nutritionally balanced.)

‘Are you all right?’ I said

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘It’s jazz.’

Now I know that most of the time we both have music roaring round our heads, but I couldn’t quite make this out. ‘Why do you sing jazz (silently) with your eyes shut?’

‘Because I can hear it better,’ he said. ‘Jazz is all about sex.’

Any the wiser? I’m certainly not.

And I leave you with another quote courtesy of Shelagh.

To see ourselves as others see us is a most salutary gift. Hardly less
important is the capacity to see others as they see themselves.
Aldous Huxley, novelist (1894-1963)