If, like me, you find it hard to distinguish one day from the next during this weird semi-lockdown, let me share with you how I know it’s Thursday.

I know it’s Thursday because that’s the day this seemingly ordinary box arrives outside our door. I’ve always admired in American movies, the way gifts arrive in boxes whose satin ribbons have to be untied by the recipient. It looks so lavishly decadent and it’s not a packaging device we seem to favour in this country. This box gives me a glimpse of this excitement as I untie the string inside.

And there they are, Freddie’s Flowers, laid end- to -end with the utmost care. I now have a routine – take the flowers out, lay them gently on the floor and prop up the box against the landing wall ready for collection next Thursday.

The bunch looks thin and unlikely to make much of a display but I remember Freddie’s assurance that the flowers come direct from the grower so will take a while to get going.

In the kitchen, I gently release the flower heads from their protective ‘hairnets.Next comes the fun of choosing the vase. I’ve learned over the years how different the same flowers can look depending on the height, width and ornamentation of the vase. I prefer clear glass so you can see the stems and my absolute favourite was a triangular vase from Heal’s made by Krosno in Poland, which broke 6 years ago and, though I look for it almost weekly on Ebay, the only time it has cropped up was in Australia and, despite the seller being kind enough to get a postage quote for me, I felt the £110 cost of sending it was out of the question for a vase costing £6. secondhand!

One day I’ll find it.

Ever a market man, my husband likes what he calls “A big flash” from his flowers and as this weekly delivery is a gift from him, I resist my usual impulse to cut them short and display them in a jug as though carelessly gathered from some nearby woodland. Instead, I arrange them elegantly according to Freddie’s wonderful leaflet which tells you the name of each flower as well as including a drawing of each, some poetically- written history or fact and a diagram of how best to arrange them. (I have to admit I usually go off piste as far as arranging goes but I love knowing how a professional would do it. And I adore the drawings. They’ve even caused me to learn the names of some of the more unusual flowers which I have never done in years of loving them.)

Tall and straight, they sit on the sideboard in the kitchen (I don’t take them upstairs, since when we’re up there we tend to gaze only at the TV, whereas life, conversation, planning, worrying, cooking, eating, take place in the kitchen and I prefer to have their beauty where we can see it.

Gradually, gradually, as the week wears on, the flowers evolve from thin, stiff stalks into a dense, brilliant, blowsy burst of colour.

“The writer”, who, though meticulous in his observations on the page, notices absolutely nothing about his own environment, has miraculously begun to see and to enjoy flowers without my having to point them out. (I do still have to remind him it’s hot in his room and to open a window or take off a sweater or that he’s shivering at his desk unaware that the icy gale blowing through his study window might have something to do with it and could even be prevented).

Many of the stems are still fresh when the next Thursday’s bunch is due and one of my favourite tasks is rescuing those that are hanging on and making them look entirely different by cutting them down or transferring them to a different-shaped vase.

“The writer” ordered this indulgent treat for me when he realised that we were likely to be more or less locked down for a further 6 months, that darkness and rain were in prospect and gloom was likely to descend on us both. It was an inspired thought and I was and remain thrilled by it.

PS: Despite all appearances to the contrary, I’m not an employee of Freddie’s Flowers – just a fan!