Sometimes I like our peculiar topsy-turvy life so much that I could burst.
Mark’s last run was longer than mine last night, and I walked the dogs on my own, around the Library Gardens in the gorgeous pink-and-grey midsummer dawn, heavy with damp flower-scent. I listened to the riotous dawn chorus, and thought how lovely life is.
Mark was arriving back as I did, and we counted our takings in the first light of day, realised that we had got enough to pay our overdraft, and felt very celebratory.
We showered as the day grew slowly brighter, cool daylight filtering in through the open windows, and then fell into bed before the world began its noisy stirrings.
We just about reached the early stages of coffee-steaming when there was a clatter in the garden, followed by vigorous barking, followed by the appearance of Number Two Daughter.
She has spent the weekend in Amsterdam with some friends, and was just arriving back, very suntanned and pleased with herself, and bounced on the bed happily, fending off affection from the dogs, whose pleasure in seeing her could not be contained, and they wagged as thoroughly as they could, from the ears right back to their tails.
She brought me some tulip bulbs, much to my delight, I can have some real Dutch tulips in the garden: and a bag of interesting cheeses for Mark, and the most gorgeous pair of tiny purple wooden clogs for the camper van. We will hang them on the wall, they match our new duvet cover, how pretty it will all be.
It was a lovely thing to wake up to, it is brilliant to hear travellers’ tales, the world is such an interesting place. She told us all about the dreadfully tragic little house where Anne Frank hid, and about beautiful squares and canals and bicycles and peculiar cafes where they sell cakes with drugs in them: and about spiced meatballs dipped in mustard, and by the time she had finished we were entranced as if we had been there ourselves.
After a while we had got to get up, and she thought she might spend some time tidying her bedroom. I thought this was a brilliant idea, and suggested that the Hoover would be a handy thing to try out, and she rolled her eyes but did it anyway, which is a relief, it is a nice feeling to think of all of the house being swept and fresh and clean.
I had got to take Oliver back to school, and ironed his uniform and cleaned his shoes, and we scrubbed and polished him, and off we went
* * *
I have now got to tell you of a regrettable occurrence.
I took Oliver back to school and then had a swim and went to work for a little while, not long because it was really quiet, after which I met up with Mark who had been mending the camper van, and we went home.
We thought that we would have an early night and took the dogs off to empty them in the Library Gardens.
On the way home we spotted the other taxi drivers who live just at the end go the alley standing around admiring a motorbike and chatting, so we went over to say hello.
That was at half past ten.
It is now one o’clock in the morning and I can hardly see to write, fortunately my computer has got that predictive text thing and knows better than I do what I am trying to say. This is not much of an achievement because actually I am very intoxicated indeed and am not really trying to say anything
They had a couple of bottles of red wine, so we popped back home and picked up our box of French wine that we have got on the go at the moment.
Our box of wine holds two gallons but is empty now.
Their Hungarian neighbour came down to complain and then joined in.
We have had a lovely, lovely;y night.
It is so nicer to have neighbours, but the thing is that we always get ion this stare when we have anything much to do with them. The chap next door is so much fu n we have to hide when he invites us round.
I will have to talk to you tomorrow.
I do regret the regrettable drunkenness.
