Flo asked if I could help her with her geography homework this evening. It was about weather. She had a map of rainfall in the UK and had to explain why some areas of the country get more rain than others.
I felt that this should be something I knew straightaway, in the same way that I know facts like mammals give birth to live young, but all I could think was that everyone knows it’s a bit rainier ‘up north’, which I don’t think was helpful. (And also not true, it turns out.)
I thought back to my geography GCSE, but the only thing I have ever been able to remember from that is how oxbow lakes are formed. I’m sure we learned other things, and yet somehow that is all that stuck.
I pretended I needed to go to the toilet and quickly googled ‘UK rainfall patterns’ in the bathroom. I have to say it didn’t help me a great deal. It seemed to be a lot to do with prevailing winds, which is an expression I’ve heard a lot but never really understood.
I went back downstairs, none the wiser, and suggested instead that one of the most effective ways to learn something was to explain it to other people and that she should try that.
‘You don’t know, do you?’ she said, raising her eyebrows in a sceptical way that I didn’t feel showed a great deal of respect.
I told her that of course I did, I was just trying to help her establish her own level of knowledge first. Authority undermined slightly by my phone pinging with a message from Lou saying, ‘Is it something to do with prevailing winds?’
Flo rolled her eyes and closed her book with a flourish, saying that it didn’t matter anyway as someone could ‘DM her the mark scheme’.
Typed up seven obituaries at work today. By the end of the day I almost wished it was my funeral.
I have decided that if I’m ever going to have sex with a man again, which could happen, then I need to do something to get back in touch with myself. (Pun intended.)
I just don’t feel sexy nowadays. I spend all day being a mum, and by the time I get into bed the thought of anything sexual is just exhausting. The last couple of times I’ve tried having a bit of me time I’ve literally fallen asleep. If I don’t even find myself arousing enough to stay awake, then I’m not exactly going to ooze sex appeal to a potential new boyfriend, am I?
To make a start, I thought I’d experiment with a bit of erotic fiction. I know, the whole genre is meant to be shit, but also millions of people love it, so it can’t be that bad, can it? At the weekend I bought a book on Amazon called Sweet Sensation – I felt bad for not supporting Chapter One, but I could hardly go in and buy it from Dylan, could I? ‘Oh yeah, hi Dylan, just popped in for a bit of soft porn! How are the kids?’
It arrived on Tuesday but I’ve kept it in the cardboard packaging in case Jess found it and took it to nursery show and tell or something.
At about 7 p.m. I poured a glass of wine and took it upstairs with the book, feeling a bit shifty. I needed a wee, which is not a sexy start, so I went into the bedroom first to chuck the book on the bed but threw the glass of wine instead. Honestly, I just threw the whole thing, glass and all.
What the hell is the matter with me?
I had to strip the bed and turn the mattress, which is no mean feat on your own. I found a clean sheet and put the wet bedding on to wash. The duvet had a huge wet patch on, so I took the duvet off Flo’s bed and hung mine over the bannisters to dry out. Fortunately the pillow escaped, but the whole room stank like a Wetherspoons on a hot day. It certainly wasn’t the saucy atmosphere I’d been hoping to create. Goddammit, why am I such a goon?
Hid Sweet Sensation under the mattress (avoiding the wet patch).
Second attempt at Sweet Sensation tonight.
The cover showed a close-up of melted chocolate being dripped on to a stocking-clad thigh. (When I ordered it, there was a part of me that was drawn to it purely for the chocolate.) I made myself comfy and prepared to be eroticised (is that a word?) but honestly, the writing was so bad that there was no way I could ‘lose myself in the seduction’ as the blurb had promised me.
I did have fun sending my favourite lines to WIB though.
‘I taste him and he’s sweet, like a cheap banana split bought at a chain pub near a motorway roundabout.’
What about that does not scream sexy? I can’t go into a lower-end chain pub without feeling aroused.
‘He walks towards me, slinging the reusable shopping bag casually yet seductively over his shoulder. My insides dance like a stripper with an overdue electricity bill.’
‘Oh, hang on,’ replied Sierra, ‘I think I just climaxed.’
‘Who doesn’t like a man who cares about plastic bag waste?’ asked Lou.
Ian has asked me if I want to go on holiday with him and the girls during October half-term. They’ve been planning it since the summer and have a villa booked in Portugal. He says he doesn’t want to put me under any pressure, but just thought it might be nice to spend some time together as a family, to help us get back to being friends. He says the villa has loads of space, so I don’t need to decide now.
Today, on our child-free Sundays, Lou and I went to goat yoga.
She’d roped me into it a few months ago when I’d had a couple of glasses of wine and was complaining about my lone weekends being boring, but at the time I’d not really thought about it much. I figured maybe the goats were on leads. Or perhaps baby goats were brought in at intervals and placed strategically on your back, like a sort of massage.
Goat yoga is not like that.
What actually happens is that you place your old beach towel out on the floor of a grubby barn and a yoga teacher attempts to talk you through a regular yoga class while at the same time half a dozen goats run around trying to bite you and pissing on your feet. (Very much like a day out with Jess, really.)
I don’t mind yoga, but I’d always thought the whole point was to leave feeling serene and relaxed, not to spend an hour on guard because of animals trying to eat your hair.
Also, I was slightly distracted throughout by the man (if you can call him that – he looked about twenty-four), who seemed to be there in the role of goat herder. He stood at the back throughout the session, presumably ready to jump in if any of the goats went too off-piste. There was something about him that made it very hard for me to concentrate 100 per cent on saluting the sun.
I might have been imagining it, but I was sure I could feel him watching me. I tried to sneak a look during downward dog but it’s a bit hard to tell upside down, especially with a goat between your legs.
We’d finished the yoga and were doing a bit of a goat meet-and-greet when goat man came and stood next to me by the pen. Lou was off in the farm toilets, applying copious amounts of hand sanitiser.
‘Have you done much yoga before?’ he asked, shuffling about a bit and looking adorable. ‘You looked like you really knew what you were doing.’
‘Not really,’ I said, turning my back on the goats. ‘I guess I’m just naturally bendy.’
Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was all the deep breathing. I swear I saw him blush.
‘Well, your husband is a very lucky man then,’ he said with a wink, suddenly not seeming as shy. It was my turn to blush. I told him I wasn’t married, that it was just me.
‘Oh!’ he said, taking off his cap and fiddling about with it. ‘Well, in that case, maybe I could get your number and take you out sometime? If that isn’t too unprofessional of me? I mean, I know you came to see the goats, really, not pick up farmers, but if you wanted …?’
Was he flustered? I leant back with my elbows on the edge of the pen in what I hoped was a casual pose that also showed my boobs at their best.
‘Why don’t you give me yours?’ I said, handing him my phone for him to type in his number. He typed his name – Dustin – (a bit Disney Channel but we can brush over that), added his phone number and handed it back to me.
I smiled, gathered up my stuff and sashayed away to meet Lou. ‘Nice to meet you, Dustin!’ I called over my shoulder. Who is this woman with all the sass?
When I got home I realised I should have got Lou to take some pictures of me for Instagram – @simple_dorset_life might have seen and decided she wanted to be my best friend. I checked her account but she hasn’t posted anything for weeks – not since the coffee cup. Very strange. Perhaps she is on some sort of fermented foods retreat.