Due to circumstances beyond my control I am intoxicated.
This was not my fault in any way.
We had been expecting visitors this evening.
Mark’s youngest sister, (he has three) was coming up to Cumbria for a funeral today, and called last week to say that she, and her husband and little daughter, would like to call in and see us whilst they were here.
Of course this was the cause of great excitement. We have not seen them for ages, she is about sixteen years younger than Mark, and hence gets on rather better with Number Two Daughter, with whom she is of an age, than she does with me. It is so long since we have seen them that we had never actually met their little girl, who has reached three years old whilst we have been distracted.
In consequence of their expected arrival some considerable faffing about happened. I almost told you that I cleaned up specially, but that would not be strictly true. I have done a great deal of cleaning today, but that is because it is a week since I had last done it, and everything was starting to get a bit sticky and dog-hairy.
All the same, it was a nice feeling to think that visitors would see us at our pristine best.
I scrubbed and polished and changed the sheets, shoved a bottle of French imitation champagne in the fridge, and then put the radio on to keep me company whilst I cooked dinner.
I made curry, because it is not difficult, and then, since we were having visitors, and I had an excuse, I researched the sort of cookery practised by the chap whose restaurant we visited yesterday.
I went to the library, which was largely unfruitful, although I discovered some gripping-looking books about rascals who get sent to prison. I picked these up in the name of work-related research, and am looking forward to my next excursion to the taxi rank to find out more.
In the end I came home and looked on the mighty Internet, which to my great happiness not only knew about the chap, but had literally dozens, maybe hundreds, of recipes that he had dreamed up.
I thought that I would play safe, and searched for the pudding that I had eaten whilst we were out. This was a startlingly lightweight blueberry and olive oil cake, the like of which I had never come across before, and which was served sprinkled with crushed meringues and cream.
I went to Sainsbury’s for blueberries and cream. I had got some meringues that I made ages ago and saved, they keep for ages if you don’t open the lid.
I could have bought everything in the recently re-opened Co-op but it is all new and different and a bit troubling, so I am retreating into an Asperger’s Syndrome preference for predictable. Some things are just too scary.
I was halfway through squinting at the recipe and weighing out things like zest of lemon when my phone binged.
It was Mark’s sister.
The weather, she explained, had become unspeakably horrid in Wales, which is where they live, and they were going to have to set off back straight away if they preferred not to spend the evening and most of tomorrow buried in a snowdrift somewhere around Wrexham. They might pop over for a few minutes now, she said, but they could not stay.
Whilst disappointed about this, I would not like to be buried in a snowdrift overnight either, especially not with an accompanying three year old. I explained that Mark was still at work and would not see them, but she said that they would pop over for a few minutes anyway.
I was just hovering uncertainly over the half-finished olive oil cake when they arrived.
They had spent all day at a funeral and were tired and unhappy.
I called Mark, but he was miles away and could not hope to make it back in time.
They stayed for the shortest of visits and then departed, despite my entreaties to spend the night in the loft.
Mark got back not long after they had gone. We were at a bit of a loose end then, because we had expected an evening of eating and alcohol-inspired merriment, and suddenly things looked a bit empty.
Mark said that we would jolly well have a nice time by ourselves, so we ate loads of curry and olive oil cake and drank all of the almost-champagne and did not go to work. This did not matter because of it snowing again, and nobody likely to want to go out on a Tuesday night in rubbish weather.
The olive oil cake was splendid.
I think I had better go to bed.
The picture is the view from the top of the fell this morning. It took me ages to get up there because of the sportingly-injured knee. I was very brave.
