I thought that I would spend today thinking about something other than agents who didn’t want to represent my story.
As I’m sure you can imagine, I don’t mean all of today.
I got up this morning and checked the computer feverishly and wrote another couple of letters: but apart from that I was resolved to ignore the whole thing and think about something else.
I went to the farm to be helpful with the camper van.
Obviously I couldn’t really be helpful, because of being a complete incompetent when it comes to anything which involves physical co-ordination. Mark always knows when I have cut a slice of bread, because of the peculiarly sloping state of the end of the loaf. I try very hard to get it right, in case I ever need to have a secret eating disorder, but there is no doubt about it, even with my tongue sticking out I am still rubbish.
As a result Mark would have preferred me to do absolutely anything rather than get under his feet and ask stupid questions about welding, so I took all my paints with me and started painting pictures on the side of the van.
My enjoyment of this activity vastly exceeds my abilities, but I don’t really mind. Mark tells me that he likes my efforts, because he is kind, and also pleased that I am not doing anything more troublesome, and I like having a camper van with interesting details all over it.
I spent a contented day decorating the corner of it, as you can see, but in the end was obliged to quit and go home. This was because of the terrible cold.
I had borrowed Mark’s full-body thermal underwear, and was wearing all of my usual clothes on top of it, plus a woolly jumper, a fur hat, a sheepskin body warmer, a quilted body warmer, Mark’s thick woolly socks, a fleecy scarf and gloves: and by five o’clock I was so cold that I couldn’t feel my fingers.
I don’t know how Mark does it.
He didn’t even have his thermal underwear on, because I was wearing it. He was wearing his usual clothes and his American anti-hurricane boiler suit and in the end I had to go and have a cuddle in order to surreptitiously warm my hands up on the back of his neck.
I went home.
There is snow on the fells and an icy wind.
I stood in front of the fire for ages, trying to get warm.
It was hours ago now and I am still not warm. The end of my nose is not numb any more, but neither is it pinkly comfortable, and my fingers hurt.
Getting undressed is going to be like peeling an onion. I have still got all of my insulating layers on because of trying to get warm, and there are so many of them that I can hardly bend in the middle to sit on the chair in front of the computer.
Mark is not home yet.
He said that he wasn’t in the least cold, and that he would continue until he couldn’t see to do any more. He was reassembling the front and swearing because of the necessary adjustments that he is having to make because of the new engine being too big for the hole underneath the bonnet. It is also a bit big at the other end and he is having to cut a hole in the floor of the cab and weld a new bit in order to accommodate the gearbox.
He has gone up in my estimation. I think he is very brave indeed.
I shall give him his underwear back tomorrow.
