I think I might have got the nicest husband in the world.
I got home from work last night in an agony of irritation. This will be entirely understandable to anybody who is trying to revive their family’s flagging fortunes by writing a book whilst simultaneously driving a taxi with the other hand.
Every time I opened my flat thing to write on it last night, some tiresome idiot banged on the window and wanted to be taken to somewhere just around the corner.
By the time I got home at five I was in a frenzy of crossness with the world in general, and with people who wanted to get in taxis in particular.
I have got to a difficult bit in my efforts at composition, not that there are any exactly easy bits, and I have been thinking about it so much that there is smoke wisping out of my ears and curling around my fevered brow. This is making me less than civilised with people who get in the taxi and who want to know if I will be working late or if I have been busy. I was very busy, thanks, before you interrupted me, kindly shut up.
Mark listened patiently, and then this morning when we got up he kindly offered to get on with the housework so that I could go and sit thoughtfully in front of the computer, drinking tea and writing the odd word here and there.
He folded the clean washing up and hung the wet washing on the rack and made the picnic and emptied the dogs and brought the logs in and washed the enormous stack of dishes that had piled up next to the sink.
I contemplated the reasons for invading York and imagined I was practising with a crossbow.
This was exhausting. After a few hours I had got to go and have a little sleep.
Mark did not want a little sleep and said thoughtfully that he knows how much effort I have got to put into thinking whenever I try it.
When I woke up it was the late afternoon, and Mark was gone. Oliver and Harry were playing something exciting upstairs, and the dogs were asleep in front of the fire. The house was quiet and warm and peaceful.
I meant to get ready for work but accidentally seemed to finish up in front of the computer again.
The telephone next to me rang, and it was Mark calling from the taxi rank to tell me that it really was time to get ready for work.
I abandoned the crossbow, and fed Oliver and Harry on some fish fingers before getting my act together and actually going to work, which is where I am now.
It is quiet. This is ace. It is not ace because of not earning any money, but it is splendidly peaceful to think about reivers and kings and escaped princesses and guns.
I am very fortunate indeed to have the sort of husband who thinks that this is perfectly all right, and who will make my dinner whilst I do it.
My world is very much happier today.
