And so, up and out, for the last day? Let’s say 10 bins. Well, Val + I could manage 5 or 6, + with Eddie + Mr K picking, surely that would be enough to finish things off. Anyway, we got going, our hopes high. The apples were pretty awful tho’, with short stems +, more often than not, would come off the trees with their spurs on. (The spur is a little piece of twig, joining the stem to the tree. When this comes off with the apple, it has to be broken off + thrown away. Though it has been known for the thoughtless picker – this one anyway – to keep the spur + discard the apple.) Eddie deflated our hopes somewhat by doubting whether we would finish the trees today, + throughout the afternoon we were alternately hopeful + despondent, depending on how it looked things were going. However, it was getting late, + we thought we might just make it when Val spotted an extra 2 trees. That did it, + so it proved – when it became too dark to carry on, there were still 2 unstarted trees. Rats! (to put it mildly.) We plodded home, feeling rather fed up with ourselves, + being disappointed 3 nights running was taking it a bit far. Still, never mind, as my mother would say on such occasions.
We cooked a tasty tea, of bacon, eggs, beans, and Spanish rice. There was a little too much of the latter, but nice all the same. And then off to the theatre – I’d seen that a local amateur group was putting on “Hedda Gabler” in the local college, so we went along there – tho’ we thought at first that we’d got the wrong night – there were very few cars, and, as it turned out, the audience was small. Ultimately, a moderately enjoyable production, tho’ mainly because of the qualities of the play itself, plus 2 good actors. It was played in the round, for, so far as I could see, no very good reason, + most of the cast were very stilted, unsure of their lines, unnatural really. The 2 exceptions were Hedda herself (thank God!) + Lovborg, an intense performance, full of nervous energy. Jorgen had some good moments too. Glad we went!
Our desperation to get to the end of the picking season is palpable; only too likely, therefore, that it should be protracted. A rare foray into (relatively) high culture, even when delivered by an amateur company.