I spent a good chunk of last night panicking about yesterday’s blog post – about exploring the form and colour of a harebell. I mean WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME! Where is my inner anarchist, where is the wild, gregarious abstractor, the foot thumper, the twister and turner of ideas. Obviously nowhere to be seen last night! However I am sensing some devilish, naughty little creations peeping over my creative wall so – watch out!
However, today we have been mending tractors amongst other things. Fred,Frodo, Trevor (see mammoth facebook discussion regarding his name) decided to rumble to a halt. It’s at times like this that I thank utterly everything that I have a man about who isn’t phased by cylinders covered in diesel treacle and fuel filters gunged up with something that looks like cat vomit. I like to stand by as a nurse might in surgery…predicting what tool might be needed next and handing it to the surgeon with attentive, quiet confidence and wishing I had spent more time listening in Physics and less time impersonating our very small teacher. It’s when Yorick asks me for an opinion that my mask of knowing is whipped from my being like the unveiling of a scooby doo villain. It goes a bit like this.
Yorick: Could you undo the fuel cap Sarah?
Me: Yeaaah sure! I wander quietly around the tractor tentatively tugging at anything resembling a knob until my eyes spot a likely looking thing that I can turn. I turn and turn and then the whole front bonnet thing falls off. Ooops! Wrong knob.
Fortunately we can address this imbalance in technical ability with my prowess when it comes to household administrative duties so I don’t feel totally useless in this duet of life and I do get to huff and puff occasionally and make Yorick feel incompetent. However tonight, with Trevor Tractor. I DID.