Driving taxis was hard work last night.
By three o’ clock we were both beginning to feel horribly sleepy, and we crawled home through the rain feeling profoundly glad that the shift was over. Mark emptied the dogs whilst I unpacked our bags, and by half past four we were both dead to the world, which was how we stayed until almost one o’ clock this afternoon.
Neither of the children were awake either, because ours is a nocturnal household as soon as the opportunity presents itself. We did not want to get up even then, but we had to, because of having lives to run and money to earn.
We went off to make our humble contribution to the erosion of the Lake District footpaths and talked about the fast-approaching new adventure. We did not do this on the way up, because of not having enough breath, but on the way down it is all right.
I had a letter yesterday assuring me that the Occupational Health Department of the Prison Service thinks I am fit to work, which was pleasing to hear, although not surprising after all of that agonising gym attendance, and it brought it all another little step closer.
I am a bit worried about having a real job and a life in a camper van by myself. I am worried because I like the idea of it very much indeed. It will be brilliant not to have anybody except myself to look after. Indeed, I am hoping that I will still want to come home.
I have lived by myself before, of course, when Mark worked for the oil companies and was away all the time. It was something of a revelation to realise that when he was not there I didn’t eat a single thing that I cooked when he was. When he came home I didn’t at all want to go back to eating meat-laden man-dinners and give up my peaceful grazing on fruit, and cheese, and bowls of rice. We had to have a rethink, which has lasted ever since, we don’t always eat the same things any more, because we are different people.
Mark thought that it would be absolutely fine, and that it is good to think about things and change some of them every now and again. He said that being married means that you have got to keep changing all of the time, to keep in step with each other. He was right about this, and I felt better.
I didn’t really notice the rain whilst we were out, but when we got home I realised I was soaked to the skin. I had got so wet that my coat had leaked, and my hair was sending cold little rivulets down the back of my neck. My trousers were filthy to the knees, and little pools of water were running off them and collecting on the tops of my boots.
We took everything off and started again.
By the time we had changed, and brought firewood in to the house, somehow it was half past four, and we had got to start getting ready for work. The day had disappeared and we had only just got dressed.
We had a brief meeting with the children, who were busy upstairs together. I fed them on pizza and fruit, and they disappeared again, shouting farewells from their bedroom when we left for work.
The day seems to have been very short, and Lucy goes back to school tomorrow.
Sometimes we just don’t seem to have enough time.
I don’t suppose that is going to improve much.
