Burning seat

See this seat...it's made of wood, hazel I think. Uncharacteristcally, I've had the wherewithall to put it into the barn through the winters. It's lasted four years. I, family and friends, as well as a few squash, have availed ourselves of its surprisingly ample comforts.



It is now, sadly, quite knackered and is about to find its way to the fire pit on the first afternoon reasonable enough to feel like sitting out and holding a sausage or two over some flames.

In truth, I'll only be so sad to see it go. Every time I sat on it, it's rough contours reminded me of the day I bought it.

I'd seen the seats at an event and found out they were made by the mum of someone I knew. I arranged to pick up a couple from their house. I drove there, my usual gormless self bounding in like a poorly behaved labrador and kissing the daughter hello on the cheek and introducing myself to her mum. Her mum said something I heard but didn't quite catch but assuming it was a pleasant greeting and being polite in my gormless labrador way I smiled, said a cheery '...and to you too...' and kissed her warmly hello too.

We walked around the garden, me being suitably enthusiastic about the lovely bits and nodded gormlessly at the bits full of ornamental. A couple of cheek kisses to the daughter, and a wave to the mother who to the untrained eye could've been mistaken for retreating sharpish as I left.

Half way home, driving alongside the glorious Dorset coast, humming along to whatever was on the radio, I felt good. Wine, wife and daughter were waiting in the sunny evening field. My mind, finally at rest after a busy day. Or almost. Something was bothering me very faintly, at the back of my head. An odd feeling, like when you wake from a dream that you can't remember but have the feeling left from it. It was the mum, I'd got it into my head that she'd taken against me, she was walking away, making herself scarce as I left and I couldn't think why. I put it down to my paranoia and put it out of my head.

I drove past the 'Welcome to Devon' sign and smiled, remembering friends who always stopped by it to do a little jig when driving back home from University. I had the very clear feeling of the final reel spinning into place in my head - like when you finally get the lyric you've been singing wrongly. I clawed that misheard sentence back into sense. What she'd said, as I kissed her daughter hello and just before I'd bumbled over to her to kiss her enthusiastically hello was: 'Oh no, no no....we're not that forward around here'.

Go to Otter Farm | by Mark D