A Week in the Notebook: Five Dated Entries

I'm copying these straight from the notebook, with the dates as I wrote them. I've left out a few lines and tidied one or two crossings-out. Otherwise it is the week as it was.

Monday, 21 September

Rain from first light. The kind that doesn't fall so much as arrive, and hangs about. I wrote my three pages at the kitchen table with the lamp on at eight in the morning.

Made porridge and burnt the pan. Returned to the notebook, and wrote about the pan.

Took the green umbrella to the shop. Bought eggs, lemons and a small, ridiculous cactus because it looked lonely.

Tuesday, 22 September

Clear, cold, bright. The first morning that felt properly like autumn. I could see my breath on the way to the bin.

Spent an hour doing the desk. Found a postcard from March that I had meant to answer. I answered it. The stamp is on crooked and I've decided not to mind.

Margit from the flat upstairs knocked to say the boiler would be off until Friday. We stood on the landing and talked about nothing for ten minutes. It was the best part of the day.

Wednesday, 23 September

Nothing much. Which I mean as a compliment.

Wrote two pages and a half and stopped. Made soup with the end of the vegetables. Listened to a programme about birds while I stirred, and did not remember a word of it afterwards.

In the evening I sat on the stairs and watched the light go. It went a faint pink and then a flat grey. Early to bed.

Thursday, 24 September

Walked to The Corner Library with the book I'd kept too long. The woman at the desk said it was seven weeks overdue and smiled as she said it. There is no fine, only the smile, which is worse in a good way.

I borrowed three more. A novel, a book of poems and a gardening guide I don't need. The bag was heavy and I carried it home the long way.

Boiler back on, a day early. I stood with my hands on the radiator like a child.

Friday, 25 September

Cooked a proper supper for the first time all week. Rice, roasted carrots, a fried egg. Ate it slowly with a candle lit, because it was Friday and because I could.

Wrote a long letter to my sister. Not much news in it. A description of the cactus, mostly.

A small, good week. I'd like to remember that it doesn't take much.

Entries copied from my notebook in late September. More of them live under Process, and you can read about the habit behind them in A Year of Three Pages.