Had a lovely day – particularly lovely in that such days are rarer than the sight of a Prada handbag out here. Aidan has been strange since we moved here. Distracted, as if his mind has been elsewhere. Having got what he wanted, he now seems uncertain of how to enjoy it. All his plans – chickens, rare breed pigs, a cider press, goats, bees – have so far come to nothing. He spends all his time in his study, on the phone or on the Internet (or so I assume – maybe he’s living another life in SL or running up gambling debts or playing solitaire – who knows?) But really, what was the point of moving? He’s doing pretty much what he did in London, but without a decent sandwich service, at-your-desk shiatsu or after dinner drinks.
Anyhow, yesterday it was like he finally woke up from a dream.
‘Let’s go exploring,’ he said, poking his head round my study, ‘unless you’re in the middle of something, of course.’
Yup. In the middle of reading a lovely blog about life in London actually.
‘No. It’s a good time to break. Where are we going?’
‘Thought we could potter over to W***. Have a look at that antiques place; check out the reclamation yard. Grab some lunch.’

So we did. He seemed like his normal self again – witty, smart, sharp as a whip. Not so touchy; more relaxed.

The reclamation yard was a treasure trove – for people who know what they’re doing with tiles and stone and slates and paving slabs. We haven’t a clue what we are looking for – we need some expert guidance. Must ring that joiner chap. So we nodded sagely, checked out a few doors as if we had a clue what we were talking about, and then slunk away to see the antique place instead. This was much more my game. Housed in an old mill, it meanders over four levels. I’m not sure everything is truly antique but, let’s be kind and call it ‘vintage’.
We hit pay-dirt. Dead reasonable (to two Londoners) and some nice stuff, if you were prepared to rummage and delve. We ended up agreeing on a vast battered leather sofa, a kelim-covered stumpy chair and two huge (ever-so-slightly moth-nibbled) rugs that the chap swore were Persian. He also swore that the moths had been banished to moth heaven many moons ago – Lord I hope he’s right about the latter.
I also purloined a lantern for the hallway and a big bookcase for my study. Then I caught sight of a box. It looked really old and more than a little like oak, carved with strange naïve shapes and figures. I thought it would cost a bomb but the chap gave a dismissive wave and said it was repro and I could have it for twenty quid. I sucked my teeth a bit, and he said he’d throw it in for free if we bought the rest of the stuff. Frankly I think I’ve got a serious bargain as I’m pretty sure it’s genuinely old. Not that I let on of course.

We had a perfectly reasonable lunch at a little art gallery with a café attached. Nothing fancy, just quiche and salad, followed by a pretty good chocolate brownie. The cappuccino was a bit thin but, hey, you can’t have it all.

We got back and I had a bath. Not exactly the long, lingering soak that I used to enjoy in my gorgeous city bathroom – the water comes out slightly muddy for some reason. I have learned to disguise it by judicious use of dramatic bath unguents. Lush bath bombs are the best – they colour the water a slightly more attractive colour and the frantic fizzing takes your mind off why the water is so dirty in the first place.

Anyhow, there I was soaking, book in hand (The People’s Act of Love – rather good) when Aidan wandered in and handed me a glass of champagne.
‘To us!’ he said, ‘to our first month in the country!’
I’ve survived a whole month? I can barely believe it.
He sat down on the small chesterfield and we raised our glasses to each other across the expanse of undulating floorboards. The bathroom is seriously vast and, when we arrived, was carpeted with lime green shagpile. I tore it up immediately and underneath the boards were lovely – wide and presumably oak, darkened to nearly black over the years. The bath is pretty fabulous too – well it will be when I get it re-enamelled. At the moment it looks as if it has some strange tropical disease – pock-marked with unpleasant stains and rust patches.

We drank our champagne, laughed a bit. And one thing led to another. We moved out of the bathroom and into the bedroom and, for once, I didn’t even notice (let alone wince at) the orange wallpaper, the mirrored wardrobes and the swirly pink carpet. I didn’t stop to be irritated by the fact that the entire floor slopes so much that one end of the bed perches on six – yes, six! – paperbacks.

It was wonderful. Not that awful ‘trying for a baby’ sex, but just sheer good old-fashioned downright dirty passion. Hmm, maybe I should stop there. This is, after all, a nice website, not some porn site! And I’m no Belle de Jour.

PS – thank you again for your comments. Faith, I might just try that salt thing. Aidan would go bonkers if I tried the blessing route, but he might not even notice a slim trail of salt – and, if he did, would assume it’s to keep out the slugs, of which we have many.