247. First day of something

I come down to breakfast. Downstairs is deserted. Where is everybody Then I remember. Today is January 1st 2022. New Year’s Day. 

I take a look at the Christmas tree, twinkling away as if Christmas is forever. I will take it down tomorrow. Enough twinkle.

We had a very different and a very unusual new year. And strangely, in spite of the late night and the Champagne I have a very clear head. I see things clearly. I cannot wait to practice my new pastime and make use the tiny present I found under the tree. Anyway I feel a perfect head for the first day of something. Whatever that something is.

I go to the fridge and see that Miss H-L, kind of back to her old Miss Organiser-self, has kindly left a bottle of already mixed sex-on-the-beach. I pour myself a glass. After all it is already almost lunch time. And, do I need to remind myself that it is the first day of the year. One out of 365. Lovely peachy-pinky colour with orange hues. Pity there is no decoration. I have a thought for the plastic holly twig I never got (The Christmas pudding (1/2).

The icy-cold drink is a powerful kick-me-awake. I straighten up right away and seeing its beneficial effects I drink some more. This time I can taste the sweetness of the fruit (yes, there is fruit) and think cold fruit is good for breakfast. Next I taste the sharpness of the vodka. I close my eyes and am transported away to the cold climes of Northern Russia, somewhere between Moscow and St-Petersburg, wrapped up in (fake) furs, sliding away on a frozen road, off to an other party.

‘Oh, you’re up!’

My husband is back from walking the dog.

‘Cocktail for breakfast!’ He says, matter-of-factly as usual.

‘No, not breakfast. It is what we call apéritif.’

A nod. He is busying himself in the kitchen. I can see he is making lunch with the left-overs. I see this as another very positive side-effect of the cocktail. I drink some more.

We have lunch and he tells me he had the best new year ever. I reflect with my clear head and I agree.

‘We need to do that for every 1st day of the month.’ I say.

‘We definitely should do this more often, I agree.’ 

The day goes on and me and my clear head sit through a family lunch, the discussing of the various departure times and waking up times (which I get all mixed up) and a lazy afternoon by the fire. As if this was all too peaceful for the F family the glass of the wood stove will crack with a very loud bang. My clear head tells me things either end with a bang or start with a bang. Or both.

The evening walk with the dog will give me the opportunity to shout - loudly - at a policeman asking me if I can read the sign that says no parking (and where I parked). How dare this man ask a teacher of l’école de la République if she can read!

Definitely the first day of something. But what? My clear head knows.