Neglect

The gate is still broken.  The logs are still piled up to the sky on either side of it.  It's raining again. I squelch out of the car into the cow-shit and in my cream cashmere top and manicured finger nails reach around the orange bailer-twine which is vaguely keeping the gate held to, and pull the wooden five-bar structure open, as usual getting the green lichen into my finger nails and all down my front; my 'top stylist at Toni and Guy hairstyle' matted wet to the top of my head, making me look like Esther Rantzen.  

I have been waiting for nearly three months now for my kind friend to sort out the electric  'ram' which makes the gate work automatically, without my having to get out of the car.  I think I might prefer to just pay!

The wind's in the wrong direction again, so I have to lean down and pick up a huge, heavy slimey stone to keep the gate open while I get back in the car, drive it through, and get out again, and kick away the stone with my damp, stained suede high heeled boots, lean over the mossy stone pillar to get hold of the twine and shut the slippery gate;  get back into the car and gaze with dismay up my potholed drive and the mad jungle that now runs along either side of it, while the house stands above, looking grey and forlorn,  the paint peeling off all the rotten window frames.

I pray that my second house-rental hasn't been here and seen it all like this, while I have been out collecting Beloved Daughter from school.

I collect the post from the box outside the door, and a letter with no stamp or address falls out. I open it, and inside is a cheque for over £2000 from my July rental, no additional comments.  God she must have been disappointed, I think to myself.

I email her to thank her for the cheque, and to once again apologise for the sense of neglect and decay that must emanate from my wonderful home.

By return she writes: 'I thought the house looked lovely, huge, and very pleased that it was straightforward to find and quite close to Ashburton for shopping (I like Ashburton).   The dog and I had a bit of a wander down to Hexworthy and around which is also very pretty. My American sister-in-law will love it.  
 
'We are quite serious walkers so some recommendations for good walks close by would be great if you have some. And my daughter and her boyfriend would love a recommendation for a good hacking stables, she doesn't get much chance to ride in Paris!'

Well blow me down.  I write back that I never go for walks - that is what the horse is for, so I can sit down going up hill.  But thinking about it we could not be more perfectly placed for short, middling or long walks, including pubs and/or total wilderness, north, south, east or west. And I am very familiar with all the hacking stables nearby, each offers something slightly different so that there's something for everyone.

This entrepreneurial stuff is such a roller-coaster. Depressing, elating, frustrating, all-consuming.  Perhaps my home is nicer than I thought!  And maybe I'm not very rural.  Although I was exaggerating about the cashmere and the manicure. All my jumpers are black!