I woke up this morning to the gloomy feeling that I just didn’t want the day to start at all.
This was because I had got so many things to do in it, none of which I wanted to do anyway. No matter how determinedly hard I tried, the day would not be long enough to do them. In any case, what I really wanted to do was go back to sleep.
I drank my coffee grumpily and tried to prise my eyes open.
In the end they came open, albeit clunkily, scraping squeakily over my gritty eyeballs. I levered myself reluctantly out of bed and made Mark’s dinner and Oliver’s breakfast.
Oliver was much recovered, probably because he does not drive a taxi at nights, and had been asleep for fourteen hours. I left him with a plate of buttery crumpets and instead of going for my morning run, climbed wearily into the car and went to Asda.
I had to miss the run out completely because of having too many other things to do.
I would like to say that I felt twitchy and miserable and longed to stretch my muscles and feel the wind in my hair and my feet pounding along the soft earth, but that would be a complete fib. Secretly I was very pleased indeed not to have to bother, and thought that it was an absolute relief to have a real excuse that even I could believe in.
Oliver needed new pyjamas and training shoes, and I needed vegetables to chuck into a risotto for feeding Mark. He eats a very great deal when he is working outside all the time.
This cost a small but noticeable fortune, and also had to be unpacked and put away.
I hung washing and scrubbed the bathroom clean and hoovered.
I was just folding Oliver’s ski pants when the dogs started to bark excitedly, and Elspeth appeared through the back door.
This was a very happy surprise.
I stopped trying to make laundry flat and concentrated on my hospitable duty, which is to say, I instantly put my feet up with a cup of tea. This was jolly nice.
She did not stay long, which was disappointing.
I cooked a chicken and made fruit porridge for the week and mayonnaise.
I was just pouring the last of the oil into the mayonnaise when the dogs barked again, and the lodger appeared through the back door.
The thing about having visitors is that obviously you have got to look after them.
I put my feet up with another cup of tea to listen to stories of her adventures. How disappointed I was not to be getting on with the housework.
After a while Oliver came to join us. He likes the lodger very much. She is actually really interested in detailed explanations of Playstation games, which is a certain route to Oliver’s heart.
Not long after that Mark came home and the lodger left.
I made the risotto.
Mark went to his maths class.
I ironed Oliver’s holiday clothes and packed them in his bag. Then I counted underpants and socks and wrote his name in his new trainers, and cursed his PE teacher, who sent an email this morning requesting that clean rugby boots and kit were sent to school even though it was cricket season, because they had not yet done the rugby team photograph.
I had not cleaned his rugby boots because of it being cricket season. I hope they dry in time.
When we tried on Oliver’s cricket whites the trousers were four inches too short. He has grown four inches this year, more, because the trousers were too long last season and had to be rolled up.
There was nothing we could do about this. I am going to have to write to Matron and ask her to have him fitted for a bigger pair.
I sewed nametapes in his pyjamas and ironed handkerchiefs and hunted out the missing book in the series he is reading. It is about killing zombies and vampires.
Mark came home.
It was ten o’clock at night.
We sat down to eat cheese and crackers.
I remembered that I had not written to you.
I have done it before I collapse into bed.
You might be interested to know that these are the edited highlights of the day. I have missed out the dull bits, like polishing mirrors and emptying dogs and making some things into a parcel for the post. You have had the exciting bits only.
