I think that the awful disaster may be over and I am back online.
I had the most shocking experience last night when I discovered that I didn’t have a website any more.
It is supposed to renew itself annually on an automatic update, and for some arcane cyber-space reason it didn’t…and suddenly, and unexpectedly last night I discovered that the whole lot – every single word – had been deleted.
Almost all of February is still missing. I don’t know where it has gone or if I am going to get it back at all, but well, on the scale of things February wasn’t that exciting, que sera, etc.
I spent an hour on the phone to a website recovery man tonight which might have been rather shorter if he hadn’t got sidetracked into reading the diaries whilst he was recovering them. It has cost me a small fortune in recovery fees to get it back, but I think it is here now. We shall see when I hit the ‘publish’ button.
It was a surprisingly peculiar sensation to find that it was not there. I had to go to bed without telling anybody about my day, which had been an especially busy and nice one, and it was an oddly empty feeling, because I was quite sure that you would be very interested indeed to hear about my very exciting adventures, and suddenly I couldn’t tell you anything at all.
In fact until my diaries were lost I had had the loveliest day.
I have had some recent misadventures which have turned out to produce some unexpected cash. The person who was sick in my taxi dispatched a cheque to cover the cleaning fee, and in addition to this another rascally reprobate was ordered by a public spirited magistrate to pay a fine to compensate for his rascally and threatening anti social behaviour in the taxi, which was, I discovered, intended to cause me alarm or distress. I have viewed both of these as something of an unearned windfall.
In consequence I felt justified in using the resulting sum to do something nice, frivolous and joyful, which was yesterday’s project.
We took a day off and went to Harrogate to buy some new underwear.
There is a shop in Harrogate called Rigby & Peller, whose business is to dispense splendid underwear to frivolous people.
You don’t pop in. You make an appointment.
I had an appointment for eleven o’ clock yesterday morning.
It is a gorgeous shop, civilised and tranquil and spacious and beautifully scented. We sat down in comfortable armchairs whilst a nice lady made us some coffee and contemplated our peaceful underwear-surrounded situation until we were suitably recovered from our journey and able to approach the serious business of purchasing undergarments with easeful minds.
The fitting rooms are spacious and heavily draped. Mark sat patiently in a corner whilst a kind lady refilled his coffee, and an underwear stylist had a thorough look at my undressed assets. She disappeared after a few moments to return with a selection of garments that she had decided would enhance them most effectively.
They find the underwear that will both fit you perfectly, suit you and enhance your shape. This, in my case, is no easy task, but believe me, there are people whose full time employment is to look at portly elderly ladies without their clothes on and work out how best to make them look like Marilyn Monroe.
They don’t even measure you, the whole idea is that they are so marvellously expert at sizing up the female form that they know At A Glance which undergarments will be perfect in every way.
Improbable as it sounds, that is exactly what happened.
Without even asking my size the lovely tactful stylist produced armfuls of beautiful, perfectly fitting, soft, comfortable underwear, in gorgeous colours and fastened me into one after the other. She explained carefully and persistently in the face of my not inconsiderable ignorance how to fit them properly, rejecting any that didn’t suit my shape, or my style, or my clothes.
She squished me about until I had the figure of a twenty year old, or at least of somebody with rather fewer children.
I have never been so gloriously comfortable in underwear. Mark said that I had never looked so splendid.
The Queen shops there, no wonder Prince Philip is always so cheerful.
I could have spent a fortune
Actually I did spend a fortune.
Once I had spent my fortune Mark spent a fortune as well.
I felt happy, and comfortable, and beautiful. This takes some doing when you are a well-rounded fifty year old, but I can promise you that it happened. If you are a chap wanting to do something kindly for the woman in your life, it is probably worth giving your credit card a little polish and going to see them.
It took three hours. This is probably more time than I have spent thinking about underwear in the rest of my life put together, although I doubt that this is true about Mark, who has some fairly well developed opinions about underwear. When we came out we were newly versed in complete expertise in all things lingerie, and very pleased with the world.
We went from there to visit my parents, with whom we were having dinner, and rounded the lovely day off with a rather splendid meal out in their local pub.
It was my great good fortune that the other serious drinkers at the table were both driving, so I had no competition for finishing off the wine, although unfortunately by the time the dinner arrived I was feeling entirely mellow and could not resist telling the entire assembly and probably half of the rest of the pub about all of my underwear-sampling adventures. My brother was less than enchanted. Let me tell you now that drink is a terrible thing and not at all compatible with secrets.
We spent today getting our lives reorganised. I have spent the day arguing with people in cyber-space and making chutney with lemons and home-made-vinegar and lots of leftovers: and we have made some soup.
I am going to try and get this online again now.
I am so very glad to be back.
xxx
