I pulled a thick sweater, from Scotland in the 80's, on. The sleeves were a bit too long, so I folded them a bit up, until they fit. The sweater was beige with a little sign on left breast, which said where it was from. I got myself squeezed into some dark skintight blue jeans. Ran my fingers through my long messy hair, and then I headed down the stairs, to find my grandma sitting at the dinner table. With a cup of black coffee in front of her, and with a news paper in her hand. She was probably doing crosswords, like she always did. I guess that she hadn't heard me coming, but it was no surprise... Age took hard on your hearing as well. "Morning!" I said, and was being sure to raise my voice just enough to make her look up from her newspaper. "Good morning," She said, and her face lighted up in a smile. A beautiful smile. "You didn't feed the pigs, did you?" I glanced at the little bucket, with the writing; Compost. "Nono, dear. I waited for you to do it," She was always thinking about what I wanted, always before herself. It was really nice of her, but sometimes I seriously had to force her to put herself first. "Thanks!" I answered, and reached out for the bucket, that was standing on the kitchen desk. I fast pulled off the lid, to get welcomed by the awful smell of mixed leftovers, and stuff. I wrinkled my nose, and made sure to place the lid perfectly on the bucket again, not to let anymore of the smell reach my nose.
You probably wonder how I could love to feed my grandma's pigs, well... They were some of the cutest creatures on this planet, and their silly sounds, when they saw me coming through the gate, were one of the best sounds I had ever heard.
I found my wellies on the mat, in front of the backdoor, out into the garden. I pulled them on, grabbed my leather jacket, and pulled the door up. Outside it was chill, and the sky was clouded. Looked like we would get a lot of rain, later on. I made my way through my grandma's perfect garden, with flowers almost everywhere, except from on the grass. Pulled up a little brown gate. When I walked through that gate, I ended up in another garden, where she had a pool that was 12x6 metres big.
I still found it weird to have a pool, when you lived in one of the most rainy places on earth. England. But she refused to answer me, when I asked her; Why?
I walked across that garden as well, until I came to the big gate that leaded out to the field where a lot of sheep were running free, but they were impossible to get close to, ran when you tried. In that field a little low electric fence was, and that's where the pigs were. They started to grunt when they saw me, and all in once they ran to the fence, but stayed just far enough away from it, to let the electricity hit them.
I knew what today's plans would be... I would take a ride on the youngest of my grandma's horses, the one I called mine, now that she had gotten too old. Then I would help her fix a little things in her garden, and maybe do some other work. When I wasn't here, she usually had garters or nice neighbours that took care of her beloved animals and gardens, but now, I was here, and would do my very best to help her.
That had been two years ago. Now my grandma is gone, she left. But she's a better place now.
The house and place she left behind, had been left alone, and I had been the first one to gladly take the chance to move in. The place was not close to any big city, but I couldn't bother any less... The country side was more what I preferred, or at that moment, it was. It had been 6 years ago, since I had lived in England, for more than one month, and moving to that place, permanently, felt weird. I had spent the first year, after my grandma's funeral, still living in Denmark, sharing an apartment in Copenhagen, with my best friend Clara, while the house got fixed and stuff.
Now I was waking up in a king sized bed, every morning, to find my fiancé by my side. I had never planned on started to think about getting married in an age of 22, but James had really changed my mind. He had convinced me that it was meant to be, from the second I saw him. And he had convinced me to marry him, just a half year later. So here I was, 22 years old, engaged, living in a big house in Pewsey/Marlborough in England... What more could I wish for?
What more could I wish for? And again, what more could I wish for?