Mark has spent all day at the farm again and a picture of the newly beginning-to-be-rebuilt, phoenix-from-the-ashes camper is at the top, taken tonight before he left.
It is so exciting. for years now it has been slowly rotting away, patched up every now and again with some emergency filler. When we came to it this time it dawned on us what an absolute miracle it was that the cab has stayed attached to the rest of it, because it had rusted through all over the place.
There was almost nothing seriously solid and reliable left, we could poke our fingers through it all. When I looked at the floor of the cab I thought what a good job that we had thick carpet. There was nothing else much stopping us falling through on to the road.
Mark has cut all of the rust away, all of it, and painstakingly welded patches all over it, carefully reshaping it to the original. It is rebuilt.
Now it needs an engine.
I did not go to the farm, because it is jolly cold and hard work.
I stayed here and cleaned and cooked and did things. I cooked bacon ribs for dinner. These are like pork ribs but much nicer, especially these were nice because I bought them from the chap who sells bits of dead wild boar on Kendal market. My grandmother used to cook them when I was a child, and I cooked them tonight with lots of vegetables which I mashed with butter and cream. The vegetables were a bit dull because of not having enough garlic and chilli, but the ribs were ace. The dogs thought that the whole thing was a winner.
I have spent another day catching up with domesticity and we have not gone to work. We were tempted to go to work when Mark got home, and so had to have a glass of wine quickly before guilt got the better of us. That is why this seems a bit disjointed, because that was some time ago now and I have had one or two more glasses of wine since then.
It is lovely having a night in again. It has meant that we had ages and ages to get on with things. I have done all the hand washing and put clean sheets on the beds and started to clean the children’s bedrooms.
I bought a new dust pan because the old one had a hole burned in it from sweeping the fireplace, and whenever you swept anything into it it just fell straight out again through the hole. This is what happens when you buy modern plastic things instead of things made properly out of tin.
I went to the ironmonger’s for the dust pan. I like the ironmonger, they keep a bag of dog treats under the counter for people who come in with dogs, instead of being politely unkind and saying that they are terribly sorry but your horrible smelly dog has got to wait in the street.
It is becoming increasingly clear that alcohol and creative writing are not the best companions. Instead of being a beautifully structured coherent narrative this has turned into a vague and pointless ramble, and so I am going to stop and write again tomorrow.
I have had a lovely day, and a lovely life. I am getting my house tidy and clean and everything ready for Christmas, and it feels wonderful.
Number Two Daughter wrote to me today. She is working for a builder before the ski season starts.
A builder and a soldier. My daughters are ace.
I will write tomorrow when the wine has worn off.
