Well, the taxi rank hasn’t changed much.
Actually it hasn’t changed at all. I have got my sheepskin jacket and my furry boots on again and the whole of last week’s sun-kissed odessey has melted away into the world of dreams.
I have discovered that I have become no more sympathetic with people who tootle about in their cars not knowing where they are going. I think probably the whole world should be compelled to drive like the Parisians, which might also solve the population problem.
I have spent the entire day in post-holiday labours, mostly ironing, but with interludes of washing and cooking thrown in. No longer can I thrill you with stories of space ships and runaway trains and haunted houses. My days of freedom from domestic drudgery are over, and now I am afraid I can only tell you about laundry.
There was an awfully lot of laundry. We have been away from home for ten whole nights, and that is a lot of clothes. I have washed and pegged and ironed and folded until long after I had become bored of it. Given that I was bored with it after the first five minutes I thought this was a genuine achievement.
Mark buzzed off to the farm with the dogs, supposedly to continue with the camper van and give the dogs a haircut, but it was really because he was longing to retreat back into his personal man-cave where he can ponder things without being interrupted, and get covered in oil without anybody complaining about it.
My day was made pleasanter by catching up with The Archers and listening to the afternoon play. I occupied myself in cooking various things the children had eaten and enjoyed whilst on holiday. It is so rare that they eat anything interesting that the opportunity has got to be seized the second that it arises. Oliver especially favours a very bland diet, preferably liberally sprinkled with sugar, I have no idea how he manages to stay so thin.
I cooked black bean chili for Lucy and meatballs in tomato sauce for Oliver. I made huge pans of these, and another of rice, and stuffed them in the fridge to make up for the catering deficiencies that I can foresee over Easter.
To my colossal relief both children pronounced their dinners edible, and I can have a clear conscience this weekend. I was just turning my attention to our own taxi picnic when to my great joy the door opened, and Elspeth walked in.
This was far more interesting than laundry, especially as she had very kindly come to let me talk boringly about my holiday and also to show me her new car, which is a very pleasing roundly-shaped affair with a collapsing soft roof.
Of course I admired it profusely, it being just the sort of car I think is very splendid, if it were in yellow and pillar box red it would not look out of place with Noddy and Big Ears in it, but it is in grey, which is less thrilling but perhaps more tasteful.
If only I wasn’t such a reckless spendthrift I could have a new car.
I honestly don’t mind in the least.
I have got some of the world’s best memories.
