Thursday, September 15, 2005


After leaving a very grey, humid London at lunchtime, I arrived home at 8pm. The front door unlocked in one click, which surprised me, as I thought I'd be first home. Today is the first day of harvest and I knew Frog would finish, have a drink, shower and then dinner with all the workers. I had had visions of me alone, unpacking, taking a bath and being assertively patient for the hour when Frog crawled home.

"Hello" I called as the door opened, and I could see the flat in darkness. "'Ello", a rather small voice came from the other end of the dark flat.

I left my bags in the hall and walked through to find Frog curled up on the sofa, in the dark, with the remenents of a cold supper and 'The Sure Thing' on pause. "I thought you'd be back earlier, but I couldn't wait to eat".

"No, I said I'd be back about 9pm, but I got an earlier train. I thought you'd eat with everyone at the house. How was today?".

"Fine, fine. I'm tired. We're working really fast, and didn't have enough panniers to keep going to six, so we stopped at 5pm. At this rate we'll be finished in six working days. But I thought you'd be back and we'd eat together."

After a cuddled summary of our respective days apart, a quick sharing of gossip and news, Frog went to bed. At 8:30pm.

I am exiled in the study. I have a stack of new books from London that I frustratingly can't curl up and start to read in bed, as the light will disturb Frog who'll be awake and back at the house for 6:45am tomorrow.

I also got given my redundancy notice as a picker, being told that they have more than enough people this year. The explanation included that I should save my back and just come for the big dinner on Saturday night. And as a throw away comment, that Frog will be really busy and not be able to spend time with me.

I think this comes from him needing to focus on the job and not feeling he should be looking after me (which is more his concern than mine as I think I'm quite an independent soul). But it leaves me feeling a bit left out. I know they're saying this for 'my own good'. But it means I'll have to do much harder stuff. Like the work I'm paid for. Which is much more boring!

I'm off to potter around the flat until tiredness hits me too.

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