Champagne night

Our new dressing gowns are here!

They are called Cornucopia Champagne, and they are gorgeous, cream coloured and soft, and thick and heavy and rich. Mark put his on and pretended to be joining the Night’s Watch, which is something in a series of DVDs called Game Of Thrones, that we have borrowed from LoveFilm and watched lately, and it made me laugh. We weren’t expecting them today because of the bank holiday, so when the doorbell rang I thought it would probably be small oiks requesting Oliver’s company, or possibly somebody coming to complain about something.

At one time when the doorbell rang I used to shout through the door on my way to answer it, by way of humour  “Who’s there? Is it the police or the bailiffs?” until one day an embarrassed voice from the other side said: “Actually, Madam, this time it’s the police,” so I don’t do that any more, and anyway, it wasn’t any of those things, it was our beautiful new dressing gowns, which was a nice start to the day, and then of course the sunshine made it all so much the nicer.

The blackbird was begging in the back garden this morning, I have to be a bit circumspect about feeding it at the moment, because Mark rolled his eyes and grumbled when he realised that I was buttering the crusts for it first. Lucy said that I look like an elderly version of Snow White, and hadn’t I realised that the crows are vermin and not to be encouraged? I like the crows, though, they are so very clever and observant, and they are fond spouses and attentive parents, which is more than can generally be said for me.

We had thoroughly had enough of Easter by today, even though we shirked off on Good Friday it still seemed as though we had spent an awful lot of the last few days sitting hopefully in taxis and chugging slowly and not-very-patiently through the traffic.  I have to try very hard to remember that people are relaxed and on holiday and having a lovely time tootling along the roads happily absorbing the fantastic scenery. It is very difficult to feel charitable and kindly towards other drivers sometimes, especially when there are an awful lot of them and a significant percentage are lost and trying to read an upside-down map and argue with their wife whilst negotiating the roundabout. I don’t want to spoil anybody’s lovely holiday by being grumpy: but it is so difficult sometimes not to give them a special taxi-driver hand signal and go roaring past them with a squealing of irritated tyres.

Pedestrians can also be quite difficult. The problem is that Bowness is so very beautiful it is hard to feel as though you are not in some kind of rural theme park, and of course people let their guard down accordingly. They drift on and off the pavements and wander into the road without looking, because of course they are happy and safe and nothing awful could happen in such a splendid place. I have managed to get through this Bank Holiday without flattening anybody, but some people seem to have been practically trying  to be mown down. I have to make an enormous effort with myself to feel kindly and pleased that they are having such a happy day, and suppress my inner embittered old boot, who wants to lean out of the window and shout upsetting things just for the satisfaction of seeing them leap back on to the pavement and look embarrassed.

Anyway, we assembled as usual on the taxi rank, and told stories and enjoyed the sunshine, Mark polished his taxi whilst we were waiting, because he hates wasting the time, and I don’t care, so I read my book about the terrible misjudgements of Charles I and his father, and shuddered about the awfulness of it all. We decided to give it up at about teatime, because the evening would probably be quiet, and thought we would go home and watch a DVD with a glass of wine, which is a nice way to spend an evening, we are watching a series called Last Tango In Halifax at the moment, which is brilliant: but when we were coming in through the garden our neighbour called over the wall that we should come across and visit, so of course we accepted with enthusiasm. We do this sometimes in the summer, and traditionally we always drink champagne when we do, no idea why, because neither of us can afford it: but he said that he had got some and so of course thought of us, and so we are going across.

I am a bit worried about it, because as I recall the last two times we have visited him we have all got hideously drunk and had to lie in bed groaning the next day. I don’t want to do this because Mark’s sister and her family are coming to dinner tomorrow and I have got to clean up and cook something, which will be hard to do with a raging hangover, so I am going to have to try very hard to have self control.

Oh dear. It is such a gorgeous evening, and I like champagne very much.

I will keep you posted.

LATER NOTE: We sat in next door’s garden and drank a lot of champagne that he had bought at a special discount from Marks & Spencer until it was just too cold and misty to carry on. I don’t think I have ever seen Mark drunk before. Next door is a lovely chap but fortunately for me, he thinks that I am a girl, and hence tops the gentlemen’s glasses up more enthusiastically. By ten o’ clock Mark had started telling rambling stories without a punchline, and I have made him come home and get in the shower. He is going to be very unhappy in the morning.

It was such a lovely night. We like the chap next door ever so much.