I have had a busy day.
Mark went off to the farm. Today’s visit was supposed to be so that he could carry on with the camper van without the nuisance of having me helping him, but actually in the end something went wrong with my taxi. This started making a troublingly horrid noise last night, and so this morning he had got to go and fix that instead.
I stayed at home and tried to reorganise my life.
I did not do especially well with this.
I made some soap, because we have run out, which went tiresomely wrong right at the last minute. It was creamy and lovely, and I poured it out into the mould, at which point it suddenly started to bubble again, and fizzed out all over the place.
Fortunately soap is not a difficult thing to clean up, but it has meant that instead of having a beautiful smooth soap it is going to be uneven and flaky. This is not exactly a problem, because of course it will still work perfectly well and get us clean, but it will serve as an annoying reminder of my incompetence, every night at shower time for the next few months. I don’t suppose that Coco Chanel ever forgets to stir it or leaves it on the heat for too long. I am afraid that I have still got a long way to go before I can make a career as a soap manufacturer.
When I had finished clearing up soap eruptions from the walls and carpet, I made mayonnaise and coffee chocolates, and pegged the washing out.
Number One Daughter rang during this bit, to tell me that I had painted the Number One Daughter Mouse on the camper van with the wrong colour of hair. Apparently I have failed to notice that she is not blonde, but brunette.
I confessed that I had absolutely no idea at all what colour her hair was, she has always seemed blonde to me. We agreed that my parental skills leave a lot to be desired at times. I made a mental note to have a good look at all of them again, just to make sure I could recognise them in an emergency, although so far it hasn’t been a problem, they can usually manage to recognise me.
I promised to repaint the mouse.
After that the lodger came in and made herself some dinner in a hurry. She had got to dash back to work for her evening shift, so I volunteered to wash the pots.
I had only just started when the phone rang, and it was Mark, warning me that he had finished nailing my taxi back together and was coming home to get ready for work.
Given that I had promised to have everything ready for work by the time he came home, in order that we would be nicely organised and set off in good time, this news threw me into a panic. I was obliged to summon the children for assistance.
They are not the most enthusiastic volunteers, and for the second time in the day I had my parental shortcomings pointed out. Lucy talked at length about domestic slavery, and Oliver complained that he had been deeply immersed in doing his homework, and that if he became a failure in his future career and had to beg on the streets we would all know where to lay the blame.
They washed and dried up whilst I made a picnic, and after a while Mark came home and joined in, so that we were not late for work after all.
I haven’t taken a photograph today.
Have a picture of Mark doing the wiring.
