This was sunset on the second ever Screen-Free Saturday. I will stop going on about this, I promise, but so far, I feel like I'm almost duty bound to tell you that I'm wholly converted. It's like stretching out a Saturday so that it's twice as long! It doesn't tick slowly by, five minutes at a time while I watch old quizzes on YouTube, and neither does the time whizz past before I've known it - mostly because I'm trying so hard to fill it with other stuff.
So, I got up and made a ginger cake. I would add it as item number three on the list of things I can bake, but unfortunately it didn't quite work out. With half an hour to go, I realised I had to go round to see Irene to measure a fridge freezer she has in her shed. She only lives round the corner so I wedged on my boots and walked over to her bungalow.
"I'll make it back in time," I said to myself, checking my watch.
Irene lost no time in talking to me about everything she could think of - all the news, all the things she thought about all the news and with barely a pause for me to interject an opinion. Plus, she wanted me to see her swanky new hot water machine. It looked like a coffee machine.
"It saves you having to boil the kettle," she said, proudly.
"Wow," I replied, smiling to myself as though thinking of a private joke. I genuinely didn't know what else to say.
The fridge freezer (142cm x 54cm x 52cm) was covered in cobwebs, so I dusted it off and stretched out the tape measure. It suddenly struck me as odd that I might actually own my own fridge, so I tried not to think about that while I scribbled down the measurements.
"I'm going to have to go, Irene," I said eventually, setting down my unfinished mug of tea.
I got back to the house to find it filled with the warm Christmassy aroma of ginger cake. And something else. I opened the oven, wafted away the smoke and pulled out a blackened lump bulging out of a loaf tin. In the end, I shook it out of the tin to let it cool on the side, and went to Starbucks with a book about chimps.
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Some time ago, Gareth asked me if I would play the piano at a wedding blessing. It turned out to be yesterday so in the afternoon, I got suited up and went to the church.
I must have heard the wedding vows hundreds of times now. There was one line that got to me yesterday: all that I am, I give to you. That's a tough promise. It gives permission for another person to confront and challenge anything about you - you have given yourself to them and you belong to them just as much as they belong to you. I hoped it was more than just words for the couple standing at the front. Then I started thinking I should probably find a girl who can make a decent ginger cake, and I got the giggles during the serious bit.
I thought about that, driving up the A34 through the golden sunshine. I was on my way to another barn dance gig, this time in a little village hall somewhere near Wantage. I don't really know all that I am; there's a lot of discovery still to come. Marriage seems like a massive risk, giving away not only all that you are but also all that you will ever be. There must be lots of unknowns on the road ahead for this couple. But also, hopefully, a whole lot of beautiful evening sunshine.
This gig was for proper ceilidh enthusiasts - the folky types who already know their motorcycle weaves from their strip the willows. Normally, these things are sixtieth birthday parties and nobody really has much idea about what they're doing. Not this time. This troupe of whirling experts danced almost solidly from 8pm to 11:30pm, under the watchful eye of the Queen, who was smiling and waving approvingly from a photograph at the end of the hall.
By the end, my fingers were hurting and my wrists were sore. I got home at a cool 1am, thanks to Irn Bru and some late night radio.
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