Today was a nice day. It was the first sunny day in 2 weeks, only the second one since we came back from Portugal. The weather hasn't been good otherwise: while June was dry (but rain came back in July), most days have been overcast the whole time, with sunshine only maybe peeking through the cloud cover around sunset as if to mock us. I woke up late because I went to bed late - my wife was already at work. I knew it was going to be a sunny day from start to end and wanted to take advantage of it by essentially taking the day off (this is what our life is like now), so I fixed myself a quick breakfast that would count as lunch too - a sandwich filled with eggs scrambled with ramirez bell peppers and tuna. Then I put my trousers and shoes on, packed a light backpack with water and a book and went off for a walk in the sun. 21-22 °C formally, but corrupted by the nasty chill wind that has been harassing us since... March? I read my book ("Very short history of Portugal" by A. H. de Oliveira Marques, which I bought in Porto) while walking, pausing from time to time to look around myself. I took the route I've been taking most often lately: up the river, then up a steep road into my favourite part of the city, full of houses hiding gardens behind brick walls. I went up a flight of stairs inbetween such walls of private gardens, turned left halfway up into a gate and walked past a south-facing house painted bright blue, and white on the rim. The last time I walked past this specific house I was coming from the opposite direction and came across something queer: a woman perhaps my same age, an irish blonde wearing shades, was sitting under the frame of the open front door and kept a cat on a leash (!), a british shorthair (possibly my wife's favourite breed). She looked up at me because I came in suddenly from behind the corner, and so I said 'hello' because I was caught off-guard by the odd scene and there was only the two of us; when I noticed her cat staring at me with its eyes of amber I said "Wow that's a beautiful cat". She said "thank you" with a dry tongue, like when you are answering an unexpected phone call and your voice comes out all wrong. There was neither cat nor woman this time. I came down another small road, crossed the river on the shaky metal bridge, on which I stopped for a moment by the north bank to admire the large fish swimming in it. Some kids were fishing on the opposite bank and I contemplated telling them that they were on the wrong side but didn't. I walked alongside the park, then turned right and followed the main road until the crossing I used to walk through everyday on my way to work, turned left there and walked straight back into town, taking at last a little detour on the way to the house to get a little more walking done. I checked the clock once at the front door and realised I had been away for longer than I thought - over 1h30m.
I was covered in sweat from the walk but I had promised my wife I'd clean the bathroom, so I did that first; it took me an hour because every bloody time there's something new that needs attention - new and exciting breeds of mold usually, hiding in whatever crevice is trending that month. I smoked a cigarette while the floor tiles dried and finally took my shower, knowing full well that I was probably going to sweat again later. I made myself coffee even if it was a little late for it and decided that the sunny weather warranted a tomato pasta for dinner. We have somewhat stopped planning our weekly meals like we're planning to blitz Poland; I kind of improvise many meals now that I have the time, choosing what to eat around what I found in the market. Speaking of which and relatedly, I have bought from there a mix of beautiful tomatoes that smell like tomatoes are supposed to smell: some orange ones, some pointy red ones with orange stripes, some green pointy ones with stripes an even darker green, some round which are dark blue on top almost like an aubergine, some which are long and red like San Marzano; and more. I watched some old Youtube cooking videos for recipe ideas and then my wife came home from work. She got ready and we went for another walk, heading first to the clothes bank bin to finally donate some old clothes (all hers) which had been taking up space in our foyer for so long. My wife told me that Ga. has been discharged from the hospital - he's had a heart attack last week, which still sounds mental to me. We debated whether to have a drink in some beer garden or aperitivo at home by the kitchen window facing the river, like we have started doing lately when the weather is sufficiently nice (that is, rarely). There is a used bookshop which has always been there but that we have never visited before, so we stopped by. They had a few decent books - I saw a few of Ursula Le Guin (I have finished reading "A Wizard of Earthsea" just yesterday), some Arthur Miller plays and more. In the end I didn't buy anything because I have too many books to read and promised myself I would read those before buying more; I don't know how long I can keep this up though. I kept putting my hand on the small of my wife's back as we walked; I blush like a horny teenager when her butt cheeks brush unexpectedly against the underside of my hand. We kept walking a little more but my wife was annoyed by the chill wind and so in the end we decided for the aperitivo at home.
We stopped at the supermarket for a bit of fresh basil, which when we left had unexplicably turned into: basil, spinach, eggs, gin, tonic water, ice, handwash detergent. The basil is grown here, presumably in a greenhouse, and that means it's not great; I miss the one they shipped in from Kenya. We got home and I got the aperitivo ready while my wife took her shower; but she took a while so I rolled a joint too, because today had felt like a Saturday to me. I love getting dizzy together with her. We smoked it by the window talking about the seagulls routine (they were taking a bath in the river, which they do around 7-8pm everyday), kissing inbetween puffs of smoke. Then we had our aperitivo, again at the window: we ate olives and the last taralli from her mother's care package; I made us gin tonics with frozen raspberries, a gay pink cocktail; I like eating the soaked berries when the drink is gone. Then I popped on an episode of The Simpsons (the one where they go to Itchy & Scratchy Land and Homer impulsively buys 1100$ in Itchy & Scratchy money only to find out none of the shops takes it) and got working on dinner. I chose some of the market tomatoes (the San Marzano, the pointy striped red and the orange one) and made them into a sauce with garlic, basil and half of a Tropea onion, the last remaining one of those I brought back from my last trip to the homeland at the end of May. I cracked open a small tin of a new spanish oil called La Chinata and we tasted it with bread - it was too strong for the pasta, so I went with the aul'd faithful, the oil from Puglia (also from the care package) which is always great on tomatoes. By now I have accumulated 5 different types of oil in my pantry: the one from Puglia, a spanish one from Estremadura, one from Crete, a very peppery portuguese one we bought on the way back from Porto and this La Chinata. I boiled spaghetti, finished cooking them in the tomato sauce and then served them drizzled with a basil cream (basically a loose pesto without nuts). It tasted of summer. I had a good apricot (stone fruits are so good right now, I am eating them around the clock) and then we had something sweet whilst watching Gilmore Girls, which is her comfort tv, until it became time to get ready for bed. I wrote this entry while my wife was doing so. Now I have just come back from wishing her goodnight; I made her fall asleep by resting the warm palm of my hand on her forehead. Life is good right now.