We got up early this morning because I had arranged to go shopping with Number Two Daughter, who wants to buy some curtain material for her camper van.
Obviously this is the sort of thing that needs to be a mummy-and-daughter bonding experience. Also I am going to be making the curtains and therefore have an advisory role to play, certainly in matters of dimension if not taste.
Fortunately we checked before we set off and discovered that the shop was closed, so we postponed the shopping until tomorrow and went over to the farm with Mark to have a bonfire instead.
We have amassed an awful lot of rubbish. Everything that has been prised out of the camper van has just been cheerfully hurled out through the door, to stay where it landed. The workshop has become liberally strewn with shelves and bits of cupboard and drawers and sink units. All of this lot has been lying about for ages, cluttering the place up, and so it had all got to go.
Mark got on with the engine removal whilst Number Two Daughter and I built a bonfire, which we lit with petrol-soaked rags and which quickly turned into a satisfactory inferno.
It all went very well except for the unfortunate moment when somehow we chucked on an aerosol can which went unnoticed amongst a pile of stripped wallpaper and old carpet. It exploded rather spectacularly, thudding at high speed into the wall of the shed missing all of us and the windows, which we decided was great good fortune.
Once we had disposed of amputated camper van parts we set to to haul out some of the ancient packing crates and rotten fence posts and other similar detritus that all farms seem to amass rather in the way the way a rabbit hutch collects small spheres of poo, everywhere you look there is more.
We chucked some of it on the fire, and decided that some of it was dry enough to become domestic fire supplies, so Number Two Daughter dragged the chainsaw out of its corner. She propped it on the bench and bravely tore through stacks of nail-studded fence posts, hacking them into stove-mouthful sizes.
I stacked it in the shed, and once Number Two Daughter and her visiting helpful friend had buzzed off to go and occupy themselves with something less noisy and strenuous, took over the chainsaw and concentrated on retaining my fingers. You will be pleased to hear that once again I have managed to achieve this.
In the meantime Mark had disconnected the engine, which he attached to his little crane with some lengths of chain, ready to be hoisted out.
I helped with a stick and some leverage, and slowly it swung out of the hole and clear of the van, and hung there, black and oily and savage-looking.
After a moment or two there was a massive crash as the hook broke and the engine collapsed to the ground rather surprisingly, giving us yet another piece of good fortune for the day, since neither of us were underneath it at the time.
We were pleased about this further lucky escape from potential Health and Safety misfortunes, but all the same Mark thought it might be a good moment to make our way home, whilst we were still on a winning streak.
In any case it was almost six o’ clock, and time for a swim.
We were filthy and smoky and exhausted. I had to have a thorough wash before going anywhere near the water.
The swimming was lovely, and now we are at work.
It is splendid to have got through the day intact.
