Phone notes: the chimney sweep and the cat
(and the white sofa)
The chimney sweep arrives for the first time a few years and Jolene barks her deepest bark. I apologise and ask what percentage of dogs are as unwelcoming to him.
Chimney sweep: ‘Actually, it’s the cats that I really freak out. On one of my first jobs, I knocked on the door, walked into the hallway and the cat ran, no joke, straight up the chimney.’
Me: ‘Noooo!’
Chimney sweep: ‘Oh yes. And straight back down. Onto the white sofa.’
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Eating breakfast on the morning of a wedding we are all attending. There is a discussion about whether it’s ‘boomer behaviour’ to butter your croissant. Broad consensus: yes, it is.Â
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Ten minutes on instagram surrounded by charity adverts, and I have donated to War Child. I close the app feeling heavy and helpless. Ten minutes on instagram for him and he is whistling after watching a man cooking with a drill in his shed. Wondering which one of us has got it right.
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Went to see friends who have just bought their first home. It’s that very specific time in a house’s life when it is between occupants. There is still the imprint of the people who were living there, some post addressed to them, some patches of floor that look like they have tan lines from past furniture. And then there are the people moving in - who have already tried paint colours, and pulled ugly handrails down, and lit the fire in the otherwise very empty living room.Â
We walk round with them, admiring original flooring and views and the potential of every season in this new lovely space. They are both beaming - tired, and a little overwhelmed maybe - but both beaming. I take a photo of them at their new front door, arms around each other, and we leave to take the dog on a walk along the water, kicking the dry leaves and warning her against jumping in.Â
‘This is alright really, isn’t it?’ I say
‘Life is supposed to be alright, at least some of the time,’ he replies
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I open the heavy shutters and, despite being alone, actually laugh at how beautiful it all is. Breakfast has been laid out - chunks of watermelon, tiny bitter coffees, some rather plasticy looking cheese, and rich, thick Greek yoghurt doused in honey. The colours are all offset against the bluest blue sky, and the white town perched on the edge of cliffs.Â
After everyone is up and we’ve found a proper coffee, we find the beach. It's a long stretch, with dark, almost black sand, that is too hot for my pink Welsh toes. We find sunbeds for the four of us, two umbrellas, and soon bright red cocktails and salty chips, with wrinkled kalamata olives on the side. Nearly five years after the last time I saw them, there is plenty to talk about with my friends. Suncream is applied, jokes are told, and we break only to get in the sea, or order litre bottles of water that instantly drip condensation and cover themselves in sand.Â
There are four women nearby, speaking with what I recognise as Welsh accents. It becomes clear as I close my eyes and concentrate on their chatter that one of them is in the process of divorcing her husband, and this holiday is a celebration of sorts. I smile as they link arms and laugh and jump in the water together.Â
We leave for lunch, which is in a kind of open air kebab shop. Most things arrive in an enticing pile on one board, covered almost entirely in paprika dusted chips. There is falafel, and tzatziki and fava beans, pitta and Greek salad, with more chunks of cucumber for good measure. Everything is salty and crisp and tastes a lot of itself.Â
Then there is more lolling about. Snoozing between Pina Coladas and swims. Eventually, our fourth friend arrives in the hire car. We make room for him, and hug and laugh. Just as we are cheersing, a woman in a bikini is suddenly by my side.
‘Everyone else on the beach is here to relax and read and the vibe is really chill. Your voices are very loud and it’s not the place for it.' She waggles her hips as she says it. I notice she is holding a copy of ‘We Should All Be Feminists’*
We look at each other over our sunglasses.
One of the Welsh women comes over to me as we’re packing up,
giggly but deflated.
‘You know what? Just ignore her. Life is for living, and you are fucking living it.’
Good things to click on:
I’m behind the curve, but I really enjoyed listening to this all about the perils of WhatsApp
How much do you know about Elon Musk?
Oh God I’m reading How to Break Up with Your Phone
Took L on the heritage railway for his birthday. We enjoyed scampi fries with a side of steam and incredible views across Llangollen
*Incidentally, a fantastic book