. . . . Satisfactions

 

 

 But despite the many occasions I experienced the unpopularity of

being single, the altered tempo of life exposed me to new

satisfactions. Feminists would be appalled, I am sure, at the very idea

that housework could be either interesting, fulfilling, therapeutic or

something to look forward to. I found it all these things and more.

The pleasures of ironing, for instance are immense. The smoothing

iron should I think be known as the ‘soothing iron’. Ironing restores

more tranquillity to the soul in half an hour than any tranquilizers.

Listening to a play on Radio 4, whilst watching piles of fresh laundry

grow on the kitchen table is, to me, a perfect way to spend the

afternoon. Then there is furniture polishing, hoovering, dusting,

sewing and hanging up the washing all to enjoy. I feel like Mrs

Tiggywinkle (and much the same shape) proudly bustling around my

house. 

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Finally, satisfaction of the garden. I had always thought garden

enthusiasts even more tedious than Royal Family enthusiasts, squash

or golf enthusiasts, car enthusiasts or people belonging to the

Ecology Party. But I was wrong. The small patch outside my kitchen

that is the garden had become an imaginable delight. Although

gardens are something of a mystery for beginners, and all the things

to learn are not a little daunting, the results are worth the struggle. I

get easily confused about compost heaps, fertilizers, annuals,

evergreens, bulbs, seeds, cutting back and pruning, but gardens are

forgiving and anxious to please. Perhaps the aura of mystery and

necessary esoteric knowledge is perpetuated by proud garden

owners showing off their ability to know and remember the plants

and shrubs by their Latin names, and then telling frightening tales of

6 o’clock risings to put in the three- or four-hours necessary work

each day to keep the garden pristine. I simply bought various seeds

in Tesco that looked pleasing and scattered them about. The pansies

did not appear, but everything else came up. Which proves that

arbitrary scattering with little or no skill involved will produce

flowers. And, as my attempts at teaching myself to propagate new

life advanced a little each week, so did the growth of my own

renaissance.

 

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