Cure for Sleepless Nights

Hey love, so over the weekend I decided to pop over to Mums cottage in the Cotswolds. Last week had been a nightmare I was running on empty after a crazy shift and I just couldnt catch any sleep, no matter how many pills or cups of chamomile I tried. I took an extra day off on Friday, thought Id give Mum a hand with the blackberries, pick up a few groceries and the meds shed asked for.

I squeezed the car into the little driveway by that modest, weatherworn threewindow cottage. As soon as I hopped out, the orange tabby, Milo, whos about five and thinks hes the king of the place, darted out, flicked his tail, sniffed the wheels and left a little gift on the tyre right up there with a dogs. He then bolted straight into the garden, probably waiting for Mum to scold him later.

Here we go again, I sighed, pulling a couple of bags onto the step and tripping over a mound of shoes thats been there forever. These are the faded, holepunctured flats I used to wear as a kid. Theyve just been sitting there, gathering dust, as if waiting for some grand change.

I kicked the old shoes and slippers aside, shuffled into the hallway thats been turned into a makeshift summer bedroom. Chaos reigned: against the freshly paneled wall sat an iron bed with those little protruding knobs you could only see the shiny tops, the rest hidden under a heap of clothes. If you rummaged through the mouldy junk, you might find my teenage summer dress from when I was ten.

So thats another hurdle cleared, I muttered, getting a bit annoyed.

I dragged the bags inside. The house was empty. Dad was probably out on his boat checking the nets, and Mum was out visiting neighbours. Of course, when they got back theyll give me those wideeyed, Oh my goodness, youre here! looks.

Mum, you sound like youve been on the line all morning: Im dying, I forgot the meds, Im flat on the couch, I cant get up, the car wont start, help me! No bread, no butter, nothing!

And then there she is, dying again, sweeping the porch with an old skirt like Aunt Susan or Aunt Natalie weve got a whole brigade of village ladies who pop up whenever theres a crisis.

I set the bags down on the kitchen table, opened the fridge and felt my blood boil. In the freezer were three halfused packs of butter, a fourth one chilling on the bottom shelf. Two cartons of milk Id bought the week before were squished into the cramped space of our trusty old fridge, now turned into a sour mess. The milk had gone off, probably because Mum was trying to brew some homemade penicillin three weeks away from being useful.

Bits of sausage were lying next to a dried cheese block, a tin of stew with a spoon stuck inside was perched on a bunch of green onions. There were jars of jam, jars of cucumber brine thank goodness the freezer was still cold enough not to let any critters hatch.

I fetched a bucket and a rag, hauled everything out and gave the shelves a good scrub. Anything that had gone sour or mouldy was tossed straight into the compost pit, where a couple of crows perched nearby swooped down for a quick taste.

I let out a huge sigh of relief: thank goodness Mum wasnt home yet, otherwise wed be hearing the classic You cant throw food away! Its a sin! Ill just bake a batch of pancakes! spiel.

And me? Ive got my own take on it: dont let food get that bad! Only buy what youre actually going to eat. Its a waste, its a sin. Cheers, hope you enjoyed the little rant!