I think that I have got the January Blues.
I have been feeling restless and a bit sorry for myself for a few days now. You may well have noticed this. I have mislaid my chirp and substituted a whinge.
I am fed up of rain and not earning any money. I am astounded by how short a time it has taken for me to reach this point, given that there are still three months of post-Christmas winter yet to come, and so far we have not quite finished the first fortnight of January.
I have explained to Mark that it is his fault, and he apologised and offered to take me out to dinner next week, but having complained vociferously that he never takes me anywhere because he doesn’t love me enough, I am now cross with him for making such a financially reckless suggestion in the middle of January when we are so very poor. In the end he gave me a hug and went upstairs to shoot zombies with Oliver.
Things have been improved a bit by the reopening of the PamperMe WellPerson Loveliness Health Spa, and I went for a swim tonight and washed with lovely Chanel soap in the shower afterwards, and drenched myself with bluebell perfume, and felt a bit better, in that I am now a miserable grumpy person who smells nice, which is an improvement, and I think I might have managed to coax some dopamine out of hibernation in the process, but not very much.
I thought that I might improve matters by doing some nice things for me, so that I could notice some lovely improvements to my life, and have some things about which I could feel encouraged even in the rain: so I made that my project for the day.
I started off by washing out my make-up bag. I don’t use make-up very often. I tell myself that it is because I do not believe that a woman should have to draw a pretend face over the top of her own in order to be acceptable to the world, but actually it is because I am absolutely rubbish at it and unless I am very careful finish up looking like Dame Edna. Also I am too idle to take it off, and hate the dreadfully tedious brown smeary cotton wool and cold blobs of baby lotion in the eyes process that you have got to do at the end of a lovely night unless you want to ruin your pillow for ever.
It is some time since I have bought new make up, and I calculated gloomily that it is going to cost me £57.63 on Amazon to replace the things that have almost-but-not-quite run out and which might have one or two more uses left in them if I am really careful. Oliver was with me the last time I bought a bottle of foundation, and said, loudly and with a gasp of horror: “Aren’t women expensive,” and Mark said that he had better remember that moment as it might turn out to be an invaluable insight.
After that I cleaned out my handbag and threw away the usual clutter of used tissues and receipts, and found a packet of peppermints, which was cheering, and a hole, which was not. I put some neatly folded tissues in the pocket, and a pen that I am almost sure works, and some chocolate for an emergency and felt prepared to face the world.
The last stage in the life improvement process was to clean out my car. I put on a jumper and a coat and a scarf and went outside with the Hoover.
It was a wearisome and depressing sight. The thing about working at night is that I do not often look at the inside of the taxi in the daylight, and it was very apparent that there had been a muddy dog in it.
It is some time since we took the dogs anywhere and I was guiltily glad that there is no light over the back seat.
I scrubbed the seats and squirted them with some stuff which was supposed to make them smell of linen washing line fresh airiness, and which made me sneeze. Then I polished the dashboard and washed the steering wheel. This is something you have got to do a lot in a taxi, because hands ooze out horrible black grease especially when their owner counts change and eats peanuts. It is worst if the taxi driver smokes, which fortunately I don’t, because then the steering wheel gets covered in the most ghastly stinky yellow and black tarry grime.
I hoovered all the mud out and scraped the melted bits of chocolate off things and threw away the sweet papers and elderly toothpicks and remains of other people’s festivities, which included several bits of burger, an umbrella and some glittery lipstick.
I am pleased to announce that I am now a cross grumpy person with an organised life. I have got a lovely tidy car which smells of washing, a handbag with only clean tissues, and a make-up bag without lipstick smears.
All the same, I am still grumpy. I have been on the taxi rank for three hours now and have not quite made four pounds. I am going to have to stay here for the next few days if I want an eyebrow pencil.
Roll on springtime.
