I have finally got round to the time of day for writing my diary.
In fact I have been on the taxi rank for ages, but first I had some sewing to do, and The Archers to listen to, because it is not upsetting at the moment. Also there is an especially good serial on in the evenings as well, all about somebody who answers the telephone when people ring 999. Whilst I have listened I have come to realise that you have got to be jolly patient to do this. I would be rubbish and I have been filled with admiration for people who accept this noble calling.
I listened to all of that and hemmed modern-coloured curtain tapes to put in the camper van, as a sort of nodding gesture towards a white ice palace, and then spent some time trying to poke a splinter out of my hand with a needle by way of a diversion.
It came out with a small but satisfying squirt of vile white stuff. Afterwards I spent the next hour prodding the red mark anxiously, in case any fragment of splinter had been left behind, until my hand was too sore to be able to tell anything much, and hurt whenever I touched the steering wheel.
I don’t know where I got the splinter from, because I spent the day sewing curtains and distracting myself from the lack of excitement intrinsic to blackout linings by trying to imagine what the Queen and David Cameron might say to one another, and whether they would miss each other. I think I would probably miss having afternoon tea with the Queen every week, it would be more interesting than sitting on the taxi rank, although possibly not worth having to endure being Prime Minister in return.
I thought how glad I was that I was not likely ever to be Prime Minister, it would stop me getting on with lots of interesting things that I like doing, and in any case I can’t imagine how on earth you find the time for a massive job like running the country. We are only fixing an old camper van and tootling around in taxis, and it is keeping us busy day and night.
Mark and the dogs went off to the farm today, and Number Two Daughter and Lucy and Oliver helped me with the housework, which was an exhausting experience. Number Two Daughter has just returned from her visit to Number One Daughter, and was full of stories of visiting gyms together, and meeting people who were actual fans of Number One Daughter, which was a most unsettling concept.
Number One Daughter, it appears, is on the organising committee for a new project for stopping soldiers from getting fat and lazy whist they are not actually at war, it is called something like Warrior Fitness, and I am very glad indeed that I am not in the army. Oliver has plans to join up eventually as well, but I might counsel against it, at least until Human Rights Watch has had a chance to check her exercise ideas over, and put a stop to anything that might be considered excessively inhumane.
I must explain that I am coming from a position of mild guilt on the subject of exercise-based reflections, because we have not been swimming or done any kind of vigorous exercise for ages. Pleasing as our activities in the camper can might be, they could hardly be classed as strenuous, even by the most optimistic of idlers, and in any case are fuelled by chocolate whenever we consider that our spirits need a small lift.
We simply have not had enough hours in the day to accomplish everything that we think we might like to achieve, and being lean and hard-muscled has slipped regrettably low down our list of targets. Once the camper is done, and streamlined and beautiful again then I can turn my attention to achieving some streamlined beauty on my own behalf, which might also take some time.
The picture is the coloured lights, which came today. They are to be stuck all over the outside of the van, and are going to be ace, they flash on and off and twinkle in lots and lots of different colours, I loved them the moment I set eyes on them.
How beautiful it will be.
