Poor weather, good trade. The shop has been quite busy this morning, with paying customers not just those seeking shelter from the cold. I've been sitting here for half and hour with my hat on ready to go out but people keep coming in... not that I'm complaining... The nice young chap who works at the quarry came in on his anniversary hunt for books and I heard some more about my one of ex-husband Nick's pet causes. N & D live near the quarry and are troubled by blasts. Well D is mainly. Also noise from the plant lifting and moving rocks, and from lorries barrelling past their house on a single track road. Nick has taken up the gauntlet, formed a local Committee from the affected residents, who have made him chairman. He is well experienced in negotiating and is proving a cool-headed, dispassionate but committed watchdog who makes it his business to keep the quarry owners within agreed legal bounds. The young man thoroughly approves of Nicholas and of his endeavours; he tells me that Nick's liaison in the firm is also an academic who enjoys a challenge, so the two of them are evidently evenly matched and probably enjoying themselves pitting wits. The Quarry Committee meets from time to time over a comfortable glass of wine and it has bonded people living in that area into a pleasant group out of which other social opportunities have arisen like quiz nights at Gordonstoun. It has brought some custom and some book-buying opportunites to me too, for which I am grateful. Not a bad outcome.
I feel sorry for Danielle though. They looked hard for a house that fitted all their disparate requirements. Enough metres above sea level (and far enough back from the coastal plane.) Away from electricity pylons. Not surrounded by agricultural land that could be turned to uses they would rue (pig farming for instance.) It isn't easy round here. It looks as if there is plenty of countryside but much of it is owned by the Estates, or farmers. They found the almost perfect place - except for the quarry. Ironically the very peacefulness of their situation makes that presence so much worse. Living on the High Street as I do I would hardly notice the odd rumble. Intruding on the silence of a summers day five miles up the hill it is so much more disturbing.
I'm finding it very tiring being back in this seat. The virus still isn't totally out of my system and it's hard listening to people chatter on about their pet interests. Ordinarily I would find it entertaining. I do pick up a lot. By the end of the day my brain feels like an imaginary butterfly which has alighted on many different species of plant in a short space of time and taken in too much pollen. Sated. Saturday a chap told me lots of stuff about the Royal family I didn't know (not that they are reptile aliens as Davd Icke would have us believe.) I'm not in the least bit interested in the RF but he made it amusing. Whilst he was talking I remembered the fellow who has 'proof positive' that Victoria had a son by John Brown. Wonder how he is getting on.
Alan just brought me in two more raillway books he doesn't want and we had a conversation about books we are reading at present which led, somehow, to Heimat. He's the only person I have met apart from Nick who has seen all three. It's nice to share an enthusiasm.
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