235. The great outdoors (1)

Baby and my husband will stay at home and I give them strict orders: husband will fix the fence before his sieste and Baby will do an apple crumble with the apples from the farm (more about the farm later) and not eat it (the crumble).

I insist heavily. They don’t like it but I know - as all great mothers do - that if I don’t insist heavily these all-important matters will not be dealt with. This only makes me insist more until they cannot bear it any longer and push me out of the door. It is all I can do to grab my bag and reach for my coat.

'May I remind you that you forgot your coat?' My husband says looking at me as if I am some kind of naughty child.

I shrug my shoulders.

'Actually, it is not that cold for November ...' I say cheerily. 'A good old wooly hat and a good scarf will suffice.'

Baby opens the front door a great gush of wind blows into the entry hall. A flurry of dead damp leaves and twigs land on the floorboards. I try really hard not to shiver and bravely venture out into the garden. The wind gets right through me and if this nasty drizzle could turn into heavy rain and turn my wooly hat into a soggy old door mat. 

'Here. Take that. It might be a bit big for you but at least it is waterproof.' My husband hands me his ghastly fluorescent blue zipped hooded jacket.

My heart sinks. I haven't seen my friends for two years. What are they going to think when I turn up dressed in a neon jacket far too big for me, in a soggy wooly hat of unscript colour, a pair of dirty and probably smelly jeans because we are just back from the farm and my childish Wellington boots with lots of little doggies. 

'They are going to think that you haven't changed. You're still totally disorganised, and crazy as hell.'

I cannot tell whether my husband thinks this is a good thing or a bad thing that I have not changed but I do not ask. He is opening the car door and handing me the keys.

'Drive safe.'

A peck on the cheek and he runs back into the house, Baby following, shouting.

'I'm closing the gate ... Am getting soaked! ... Bye!'

I turn the engine on. The windscreen wipers kick start in a manic swish-swish dance. Indeed the drizzle has turned into a heavy downpour. 

I drive off spinning the wheels in the mushy grass and drive past the gateposts in an impressive spray of brown muddy water.