So far, so good. It rained this morning, which let me off the hook. I smiled to myself when I heard it chucking it down first thing. The plants were getting a good old battering, a real downpour.
"So, don't water them when the sun's overhead," my Dad had said, "The sunlight refracts through the droplets and burns holes in the leaves." No problem.
It didn't last long though, the rain. In fact, it has been the most beautiful Sunday afternoon - gentle breezes through a crisp blue sky, warm sunshine and dappled shadow. I'm sitting in the conservatory with a cup of darjeeling and I'm loving the quietness of it.
It's dawning on me though, how difficult it might be living on my own. The quietness of it could easily turn to loneliness. Walking round an empty flat with an estate agent is one thing; sitting in it late at night with only the radio for company could be quite another. It occurs to me that I need to be prepared for that.
It might just be of course, that my body is a step ahead of me. Sleep. It's made me fall asleep at least four times this weekend - just randomly dropped me off the bleary-eyed precipice and into the snoozy zone. I know the softball was exhausting but did I really need to catch up that much? Nonetheless, I dozed right through a radio play I was listening to about cricket and woke up to the sound of next door's children playing with a hosepipe.
It's not exactly a brilliant solution to loneliness - and I forgot to get the chicken out of the freezer in time - but sleep does seem to be some form of escapism at least.
Next door are playing La Macarena - you know that song they play at weddings to get everyone crossing their arms and spinning 90 degrees in rows on the dance floor. Toni Braxton last week, earwormy euro pop today - it's 1996 round there. I might close my eyes and hibernate for a while - especially if Whigfield's next.
Oh no wait, I've got to water the plants.
So much for the snoozy zone.
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